


Raised

by river_water (prairie_dust)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Discussion of suicide prevention, Eventual Smut, Everyone else lives in Kansas, Invasion of Privacy, Lost Modesty, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nameless locationless generic large city, No mpreg, Omega Dean, Omega Fighting, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Switching, Trafficking, Triggered Rut/Heat, True Mates, Violence, and that was too close to Lawrence, because the only big city I've lived in was KC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 61,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairie_dust/pseuds/river_water
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a consultant and member of a task force specializing in recovering trafficked omegas and helping them readjust to a normal life. Everything he thought he knew about himself is called into question when he encounters one omega who will change him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. RAID

Castiel held up a hand, motioning to Rachael to wait behind him in the doorway. The location had been secured and thoroughly swept. Still, Castiel was taking no chances with his people. Because behind him was complete chaos. Sirens went off as squad cars pulled away, and everywhere blue and red lights flashed nightmarishly. Someone with a bullhorn barked orders, and occasionally he heard a scuffle and shouting when somebody decided to belatedly resist arrest.

In the cavernous warehouse ahead of them, barely visible among the shipping crates and stacked pallets, was a smaller building-within-a-building, maybe a foreman’s office, and inside they could hear wails, sobbing, pleading. He estimated fifteen souls in there, maybe twenty if he took into account some who were likely hunkered in silent terror. The officers had no doubt herded the frightened civilians into the office while they secured the rest of the warehouse. The door was open with two SWAT officers standing stoically in front of it.

Elsewhere, a flashy omega fight had been taking place, but the meat of Lilith’s operation were the people in the room they were about to enter-- omega men and women who were being illegally trafficked, sometimes as domestic servants, but more often they were going to end up as part of someone’s alpha-omega “play group.” Even from a distance, he could tell that at least one person in there was in the middle of a heat.

He knew now that they could only hope to deal some minor damage to Lilith tonight. He guessed that Alastair, the target that the assault team had been referring to as “Black Mac,” had eluded capture. But Castiel’s job had little to do with the SWAT engagement; he was there to deal with the aftermath.

A woman in the room ahead of them suddenly shrieked wordlessly, and Inais flinched behind him. Castiel glared at him. It was Inais’ first raid, and since “Black Mac” had managed to cut loose, it wouldn’t be his last.

“Lock it down, Inais,” Castiel hissed at him.

Inais nodded and squared his shoulders.

Castiel was distracted just then by Walker, the leader of the SWAT unit that had breached and locked down the warehouse, who was now calling a code eleven.

Damn.

“Novak, do you hear me?” Walker yelled through his earpiece, “I said code eleven to the arena! We got an omega that won’t stand down!”

“Walker, I copy, but we’re just about to--”

“You want me to just tranq him?”

“What? No! God no! What’s his twenty?”

“Arena!!”

“I don’t know where that is!” he yelled back to the cop, craning to see over stacks of pallets and crates. His team hadn’t been prepped as thoroughly as he’d liked, and he didn’t know where in the warehouse labyrinth the fight might have been taking place. And tranquilizers? Had he heard right?

Castiel looked at Rachael, who nodded and glared at Inais. “Pull it together,” she hissed. She gestured for the rest of the team to follow her into the room ahead.

Walker took a moment to answer. “Arena, dammit, docks level, you can’t miss us. And hurry or I’m just gonna put him down.”

“Like hell you will, Walker, I’m on my way.”

He’d worked with Walker and his team on another raid two years ago, but it was small scale in every way-- an omega man and two omega women in a trailer that belonged to a biker gang-- and definitely didn’t involve a fight club. Omegas who had been conditioned to fight were often unpredictable and usually didn’t respond with typical behaviors to alpha posturing, and of course the cops were scent-blocked or else they’d have blown their cover half an hour before showtime. He’d briefed Walker and his squad on how to handle an FC, a fight-conditioned omega, but when faced with the reality of an omega who wouldn’t follow his commands without a scent to back it up, he was clearly losing his shit.

The department had been tracking omega fights for months now, and when the opportunity came to bust this auction and a fight at the same time, to pull this particular omega out-- one that they only knew as Sonny Boy-- Castiel asked to lead the evac team himself.

He ran across the concrete floor to the stairwell and skipped down them two at a time to the lower deck, where the fight had been taking place. He berated himself under his breath, thinking that he should have gone straight to the arena rather than risk losing the fighter-- a potentially invaluable witness-- to some jackass cop.

The first smell that hit him was that of twenty or so frenzied alphas and betas who had been pressed together too closely, and then had then tried to scatter in a panic. It was a heavy, stomach-turning animal musk, thick and rank, and would just smell even more foul as it went stale. The spectators were long gone, hauled into the open air, hands bound in nylon zipties, to be booked for anything from illegal betting to racketeering to trafficking charges, but the reek would linger for a week.

He could smell the river, too, the heavy miasma of fish and chemicals and sewage that permeated the entire waterfront.

He saw the ring at the far side of the space, a crude circle of chain-link surrounded now by a good half-dozen police officers. To one side, paramedics were tending to a stocky man with a grey blanket around his shoulders. He knew that particular medical team well, as they often transported omegas in crisis who’d been flagged for the mental and behavioral health services offered by the city shelters.

As he trotted toward the makeshift arena, trying not to slide on discarded papers and betting slips, he heard the unmistakable _sfittt_ of a tranq gun being fired.

“NO!” he yelled and sprinted the last few yards to the tall enclosure. How the hell they’d managed to get a tranq gun past him in the first place was now the question of the night.

He pushed past the milling cops and around to the gash that had been pulled open in the chain-link.

In the center of the fighting ring was a shirtless and barefoot omega, swaying uncertainly and staggering backwards, away from Walker. His face was a bloody mess, his left eye already swollen shut. Red bruises dappled his abdomen. A dart dangled from the muscle just below his collarbone.

“Dammit dammit dammit,” Castiel chanted under his breath. He slipped into the ring and shouldered past Walker just as the omega crashed to his knees.

“Sorry, Novak, the fella wasn’t going to come quiet,” called Walker from behind him. “Wouldn’t listen to a damn thing I said.”

“I told you I was on my way!” Castiel shouted over his shoulder.

He skidded to his knees in front of the man, who took a drunken swing at him. Castiel ducked the blow easily, catching his hand by the wrist, feeling calluses over his pulse point where he’d spent time bound by rope or leather straps, but then grasped the man by the shoulder as he suddenly swayed forward. A couple of the cops behind them yelled and hooted encouragement-- maybe they’d enjoyed what they’d caught of this fight as much as the lowlifes that ran it.

“Hey, stay with me, stay with me,” Castiel said, trying to hold him upright. He glanced over his shoulder, throwing a malicious look at the people standing around behind him.He felt their collective gaze on his back and desperately wanted to shield the rapidly fading man from their view.

He wore only dirty jeans and a broad, tight leather collar, and had a tattoo of some kind of constellation on his chest; Castiel swiftly but gently pulled the empty dart away from one of the stars. He was dirty and unshaven, and Castiel could see older, yellowing bruises underneath the fresh ones. And freckles...

Castiel shook himself.

The man’s skin was shiny and slick and Castiel gripped his arm tight to keep him steady. He stank of baby oil. Grease of some sort made for a more exciting fight as combatants couldn’t get a good grip on one another-- they weren’t able to simply wrestle each other to the ground or choke the other out. Castiel hated the smell. It was ubiquitous at fights like these, although sometimes the fighters were doused with vegetable oil or lard or even lube. But baby oil in particular helped to mask the scent of the alpha and beta spectators and the occasional alpha challenger, so that the fighters were more likely to put on a good show. He hated the stench of these spectacles. Sometimes there was even popcorn...

“Keep your head up, come on,” he urged the omega. He knew the techniques used by the fight wranglers to train omegas for combat-- subverting the fear that usually led to submission, eventually activating a fight response almost on command. He could perhaps use those commands to try to get the omega to fight the tranqs. But in the end he just couldn’t go that far. Desperate, though, he just assumed a slightly straighter posture.

The scrapper tried to push him away, fighting still, fighting to the very end, adrenaline battling with the antipsychotics and narcotics in the tranq cocktail, anger and outrage still winning out over the instinct to submit to an alpha. He probably couldn’t smell Castiel over the reek of the scented mineral oil, so Castiel put as much alpha command into his voice as he could without crossing the line.

“That’s it,” said Castiel, “fight it, stay with me. Don’t go down, okay? My name is Castiel. What’s your name? Hey,” he said, shaking the omega gently, “what’s your name? Tell me your name.” He pushed the sagging fighter upright and looked him straight in the eyes. “You’re safe, do you hear me? I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

The fighter met his stare for a heartbeat and nodded faintly, but then his bloodshot green eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward.


	2. AFTERMATH

The omega in his arms was growing more and more limp, and moaned softly as Castiel held him. With one hand he tried to clutch feebly at Castiel’s arm. The concrete was cold, so Castiel tried to support him instead of letting him down onto the ground. An omega in his condition, who was exhausted, terrified, and of all things drugged, could go into shock in the blink of an eye. Hell, anyone could under these circumstances.

“Hartach,” he called towards the paramedics, “get another team in here. Tell him we have a tranqed omega!”

“Right away,” said Hartach, and Castiel heard him calling for another team over the radio.

He continued to talk to the man he held, trying to find a tone somewhere between firm and soothing, knowing that his voice was all too rough to begin with. The fighter smelled of the oil he was soaked with, but Castiel also detected the sweet smell of omega underneath, the scent that drove the alpha fighters out of their minds. The scent that made them crazy to get their omega opponent to go down, to submit. He relaxed and tried to speak gently, cradling the fighter as he slipped under.

By the time the second set of medics arrived, the omega was out cold.

Castiel handed him over gently, catching his head as it lolled to one side; he was uncomfortable with how the man’s body seemed now to be thoroughly abandoned-- he felt pliant, vulnerable, empty.

He strode over to Walker, fighting the urge to punch him in the face, and yelled, “What the hell did you go and shoot him for?”

“Because we couldn’t get him to comply. And that’s what the tranqs are for, isn’t it?”

Castiel shook his head in disbelief. “How did you even have that thing, Walker? We don’t do tranqs anymore-- that’s why I was here.”

“What should I have done?” asked Walker.

Castiel turned away, biting back a retort. It was useless to argue about this now. It would all go in the report and--

“I’m serious, Novak, what should we have done?”

Castiel looked Walker over. He was holding the tranquilizer pistol down and a little away, like it was suddenly something disgusting. Castiel felt very weary. Even now, with as much progress as they’d made toward awareness and omega rights, people like Walker still fell back on the old stereotypes, the fears and prejudices and misunderstandings that ran generations deep. An omega who could actually fight an alpha was assumed to be capable of anything. They had to be completely out of their minds to go up against a higher designation.

The paramedics had the omega on their gurney, covered in a woolen blanket, and he saw that they were trying to run an IV. He held up a finger to Walker, leaving him to stew for a minute, and caught the attention of one of the paramedics. “You’re taking him to General?”

She shook her head and pointed to the smaller fighter beyond. “That alpha will go. But General is saying now that they won’t take more than eight O’s. Standard said they’d pick up as many as ten, but not the fighter. We’re just going to pattern with this one.”

“Going to pattern” meant they would simply wait, engines idling, in a parking lot somewhere, until they were finally dispatched to an ER. And Standard had already turned them down outright.

“This man might die if all he gets in the next hour is saline and a blanket,” Castiel hissed.

The paramedic just shook her head and shrugged. “We can treat shock--”

“He’s been beaten and drugged with god-knows-what, and he might have--” Castiel bit off the end of the sentence. He was plagued by thoughts of a concussion or broken ribs... But there was nothing this medic could do about General’s sudden change of heart, nor Standard’s lack thereof.

“Take him to St. Brigid's,” he said. “I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

“St. Brigid’s is just a shelter. Can they handle him?” the other paramedic asked, then looked pointedly through the chain link at the alpha fighter, who was being coaxed onto a gurney by Hartach and his partner.

Castiel leaned in and said, “Do you want to be alone in an alley somewhere with your thumb up your ass listening to talk radio at two in the morning if this guy dies? Take him to St. Brigid's.” Castiel felt as though he’d personally let the omega down by not getting to his side fast enough. At least if he did die, he would be among people who thought his life was valuable and his death lamentable.

The medic nodded, focusing on setting up the IV.

“You,” Castiel said pointing at Walker. “What did you imagine that omega was going to do to you? Charge you, strip your weapon, kill everyone in the building, then rip your throat out with his teeth?”

Walker just shook his head, upset and uncertain.

Castiel backed off. There was no sense in shaming the man. And suddenly, grudgingly, he found himself in a teachable moment. “This man was exhausted. He’d already been fighting all night and was beaten to a pulp. He’s only been battling other omegas in clubs, maybe a few alpha knotheads like that one,” he said pointing to the other combatant, “but if he ran at you, or if he didn’t do exactly as you said, it was because he was just confused. These men and women are run ragged, tortured to within an inch of sanity, until all they can do when they’re turned loose here is fight for their lives. He was no match for you, no matter what kinds of things you’ve heard.” Castiel stopped, looked around at his erstwhile audience before he continued.

“We don’t tranq people because it’s barbaric. That’s not how we treat our fellow man, right? And because when the drugs wear off, they wake up sick and disoriented and they don’t remember what happened.” He paused, looking several onlookers in the eye. “Everyone deserves to remember the day they were rescued.”

He was going to have to emphasize that tranqs were verboten a lot harder during pre-mission, if they ever got a second chance at one of Lilith’s auctions-cum-sporting-events. Who even knew how old that cocktail was, or what it comprised-- it had been that long since tranquilizing was standard procedure. He knew they were still in the armories of law enforcement departments all over the country, and were even sold to the private sector for personal defense, because the stereotype of the rabid, out of control omega still held strong.

Walker merely clenched his jaw and nodded.

The team of paramedics taking care of the unconscious omega hoisted up the gurney and headed briskly to a freight elevator.

Castiel watched them until the grate crashed closed and the lift lurched upwards, and then stared down the dock where the flashing lights of police boats and reflections of the waterfront roiled dizzyingly on the greasy water of the river.

Turning back to Walker, he asked, “Was this the only fighter you found?”

Walker hesitated, then nodded.

Castiel sighed heavily. Alistair must have caught wind of something- he probably decided to cut his losses and skip out his party early, leaving behind his omega prizefighter mid-bout. An omega who still might not make it out of this nightmare alive.

“We’ll debrief about this tomorrow afternoon. I know--” he hesitated, not wishing to rub salt in a wound, but then carried on anyway, “I know you’re all disappointed that ‘Black Mac’ got away--”

Walker frowned, shook his head, letting Castiel know that any more on this topic was off-limits right now.

“At any rate, I’ll see you tomorrow,” was all he could think to say. He left the sorry little chain-link ring and walked swiftly toward the exit.

Once free of the building, he called Naomi at St. Brigid’s.

“There’s an FC’ed omega heading your way. General reneged, the paramedics couldn’t find anywhere else to take him.”

“I heard about General,” said Naomi crisply. “We’ve already got two here. What kind of shape is he in?”  
“Not great. He’s was in the middle of a match with an alpha, and when he didn’t roll over for the SWAT guys, they tranqed him--”

“What the hell? Did I hear you right?”  
“One of the SWAT captains brought his own liquid backup. Stung the guy before I could get there. He was out when they took him, ”

There was a long pause. “Fight-conditioned.”

“Yes. And Naomi, he... did a number on his opponent,” Castiel added reluctantly.

After a long pause, Naomi answered, “We can handle him. I could use your help here, though.”

Castiel thought for a moment. He wanted to follow the unconscious man to St. Brigid's, stay at his side until he either died or woke up, but said reluctantly, “I can’t, Naomi, I’m going to Standard, first. They agreed to take ten, and I doubt they’re prepared for any of this.”

Naomi sighed loudly.

“Please take care of him, Naomi? I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise,” Castiel assured her, trying not to sound like he was begging her for a favor.

“What do we do with the other two?”

“Just evaluate them and do the rape kits, and make sure they get sleep. I’ll be there in the morning to take statements.”

Once off the phone, he noticed Rachael helping two evacuees into the back of a police van. They balked, understandably, but Rachael was very good at her job and convinced them both that they would be safe. They clung together, one sobbing on the other’s shoulder.

“What’s the situation?” he asked her.

Rachael looked out over the barely controlled chaos of the staging area grimly. “Lots of domestics, a few who were play-trained to sweeten the pot.”

“How many of those?” Castiel asked.

“Four.”

“This wasn’t at all what we were expecting,” he said, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Rachael just nodded blandly. “You think they got a head’s up?”

Castiel shrugged. They’d find out in due course.

“What about those fighters?” Rachael asked. “That omega was Alistair’s for sure.”

“He got left behind when Alistair bugged out. Walker shot him with some old field tranq they must have found in their basement. He’s on his way to St. Brigid's...” Castiel trailed off.

“Still.” Rachael said placatingly.

“Still... You’re right, Rachael. More than two dozen people, out. Look, I’m going to Standard to help evaluate the evacuees who are being sent there. Send Inais to General-- and can you find out where the rest of them are being sent? St. Brigid's says they have two already and I just sent that fighter on to them, but I don’t think everyone is accounted for yet.”

Rachael nodded.

“Thank you. Nice work, tonight; good job with those two in the van,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder before he left her.

Castiel walked over to a squad car that was idling a little away from the scene. “What are you two doing?” he asked, flashing his ID.

“Nothing,” the driver said, a little defensively.

“Good, then you can give me a ride. Turn the lights on and everything.”


	3. DISORIENTATION

Nausea.

Bile, now, flooding his mouth.

Couldn’t wake up. Couldn’t get his eyes to focus, to stay open.

Drowning. Thrown in the river. He remembered the smell of water.

He realized he was being held over the edge of a bed, vomiting.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Couldn’t sit up.

Retching eventually turned into dry heaves.

A woman was talking to him. Explaining something. He didn’t understand her. Words mixed with numbers, nonsense.

He tried to wave her away, but both of his arms were being held as he coughed onto the floor.

Do you understand? she said.

He nodded just to make the talking stop.

He felt stabbing pains in his sides.

Someone was pressing his ribs, causing him to gasp for air.

The heaving finally stopped.

He took a last deep, shuddering breath.

And was gone again.

 

\-----

 

Many of the omegas being evaluated at Standard were going straight home to family-- those that didn’t bare their necks constantly, or throw themselves on the floor in a collapse, incoherent with sobs and submission. Those went on to a center, a place that would buffer their transition from the nightmare they’d just endured back into the ordinary world.

Castiel helped handle intake for all of the evacuees-- he refused to use any other term for people who’d been pulled out of the underground omega trade-- and stayed with a couple of the men while hospital staff collected DNA evidence. Three of the four individuals who were being sold as alpha-omega “playmates” ended up at Standard, and he saw that after they made statements to the police and made promises to come back in to identify their captors, they were sent on to St. Brigid’s main campus, where they would get help reacclimating to the wider world.

Castiel gave his consent for all the releases himself, knowing that those who hadn’t been broken by their experience would either survive on the outside, or would end up in a shelter like St. Brigid’s later, when the rush had passed.

He tried to memorize faces in case he saw any of these people again. He tried to gauge the families that each person was being returned to-- not many omegas with healthy family dynamics and a robust support system actually ended up in trafficking. The good little unmated omega girl who was abducted on her way home from the church bake sale was, with a handful of notable and nameable exceptions, an urban legend.

Standard ended up sending two more omegas on to shelters, and admitted one who was recovering from shock. Rachael had ended up with Inais at General, who had also released all of the omegas they’d agreed to take except for the man who had been brought to the auction in heat. They’d had the decency to admit him.

Surprisingly, Standard’s on-call psych knew a lot about omega psychology, or as Castiel liked to think of it, human psychology, so he felt alright about leaving for the night around five in the morning.

He had been checking in with St. Brigid's every couple of hours-- they were having problems with one of the omegas from the auction, but the fighter who had been tranqed was quietly sleeping it off. They were working on an ID, working to locate a next-of-kin, asking Castiel what he thought they should expect when he finally woke up.

Castiel felt weak with relief when he realized that the man was still alive in the morning.

He looted his pockets for one of his honey lozenges-- the shouting match with Walker had done a number on his throat, and he considered stopping at a drug store for more, but instead told the cabbie to take him straight home.

Once back at his apartment, Castiel stripped off his oil-soaked ballistic vest and reeking shirt. He sniffed at it suspiciously. He was certain he was covered in baby oil, but it smelled odd. Perhaps it was omega-scent from the fighter, too. He could see the dark, greasy splotches on the fabric, though, so he dumped all of his clothes into his little washing machine. He poured half a bottle of stain-remover and a generous splash of enzymatic detergent into the basket and let the whole load soak. He usually sent his shirt laundry out, but he didn’t want to come back to an apartment that smelled like an omega fight.

He stripped the ballistic package out of the vest cover and soaked the polycotton outer shell in some dish detergent in the bathroom sink.

He showered, rinsing twice to get all of the oil off of his hands and arms. After all that, he crawled into bed in his boxers and slept fitfully for about two hours.

When he woke up, aroused and restless despite the night he’d had, he checked in with Alfie, the tech at St. Brigid's who had stayed with the sleeping omega all night. When Alfie assured him the man was now considered stable but was still unconscious, he fished out a jug of old orange juice from the back of the fridge and polished it off, then knocked back the cold, bitter remainders of yesterday’s coffee. He dressed quickly, pulling on a still-knotted tie from a couple of days prior, and left to get to St. Brigid's right at shift change.

He wanted to talk to the night techs, and felt a little desperate to find out whether or not they had an ID on the tranquilized omega. He got there before breakfast at least, missing some of the crew by a few minutes, and was informed that Alfie had left for the day.

He was tired and more than a little cranky, and still had to attend the police department debriefings that afternoon. As he stomped through the lobby toward the duty station at A wing, he saw Alfie duck into the canteen. Castiel followed him.

“Alfie!” he called, jogging a little to catch up. “So, that fighter--”

“He just slept, Castiel, all night, okay?” Alfie answered, a little annoyed. “Well, he puked once, you know because of those stupid meds, but he passed right out again. Why are you so interested, anyway?”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “I feel badly about how the situation was handled. And he’s important-- to the investigation. So,” he said, changing subjects, “what of the two who came in before him? And I think three others should be here by now?”

“Nurses finally had to give the first woman a couple of Ativan to get her to settle down. She’s also dead to the world, back in the wing. Rob’s sitting one-on-one with both of them.”  
Castiel frowned, uneasy partly at Alfie’s macabre turn-of-phrase. “It isn’t one-on-one if he’s sitting with two patients.”

“We’re stretched thin, Castiel. Naomi already asked me if I’d consider a double shift.”

“Will you?” Castiel prodded.

Alfie’s shoulders sank. “I might come in early tonight...”

Castiel left it at that. He decided to skip the other staff members-- he could read the shift log later-- to get a quick breakfast with Alfie.

 

\-----

 

Dean came to slowly, not quite able to keep his eyes open for long.

There was a heavyset man sitting just outside his door staring at the blue-white screen of a phone.

Ribs ached. Face hurt. He closed his eyes and drifted again.

Someone walked quickly past his room and down a hall.

Hospital? But he was in the wrong kind of bed for a hospital.

He didn’t think if he ever got hurt so bad in a fight that he needed to go to a hospital that he’d actually be sent to one. He’d be dumped in the river to drown. He’d seen it happen before.

But... _River_.

He remembered the smell of the waterfront.

No, not the waterfront, but freshwater. And cut grass? A riverbank?

Remembered the first hit that the alpha had managed to land on him, right to his jaw.

His heart was beating faster.

Dean tried to sit up, and managed to just swing out over the edge of the mattress. His ribs burned.

Were they broken? No, maybe cracked.

How many fights now? And he’d only had cracked ribs twice.

The man who’d been sitting by his door stood up quickly and helped him lever up into a sitting position.

“You gonna throw up?” the man asked, pulling a paper bag over and setting it in front of Dean. He stood back at arm’s length.

Dean remembered heaving until he was dry. Last night? After the fight? Had there even been a fight?

The alien scent of this beta and the overpowering smell of the paper bag filled his mouth with bile, but he didn’t throw up.

He remembered people trying to tell him things while he was retching emptily. But he didn’t remember what they’d been trying to tell him. Only that it was urgent.

His hand hurt. He stared at it, at the needle in the back of it with a few inches of clear tubing jutting out. It hurt when he flexed his fingers. He couldn’t remember what this was called...

The man rattled the paper bag again.

Dean shook his head and tried to stand up. Strangely, standing was easier than sitting up had been, and once he was standing he looked around carefully to get his bearings. The door ahead of him opened into a hallway, where he could see more doors.

Hospital...?

The door in his room on the right and a little bit behind him had to lead to a bathroom. He turned, and to his surprise the room continued to go around even after he was pretty sure he’d stopped moving.

“Hold on there, chief,” the man said, steadying Dean by his shoulders. Dean shrugged him off, skin prickling, uncomfortable with the touch. He didn’t like how this beta smelled.

He staggered to the bathroom and stopped, uncertain. The dimensions in this room were all wrong. The shower curtain went all the way up to a very high ceiling, and there was no lip on the shower floor. The toilet was low and squat, and he had to steady himself on the wall behind it or risk hosing down the entire room.

He remembered to flush, and was shocked into staggering backwards by the concussion of the water in the bowl. He couldn’t quite fasten the top button of his jeans. His watcher was right outside the door, but Dean was still too out of it to object.

He washed his hands out of habit, the sink turning on automatically with a hard thunk, and again the water pressure was loud and terrifying. Either that, or sounds were more intense than usual. He splashed water on his face, trying to sober up, and his skin burned in several places. The mirror was dim or dingy-- it wasn’t glass, he realized, but he could still make out the bruises on his face and the thin pieces of tape over the worst of the cuts.

No collar. He put his hand to his neck, feeling the roughened skin and looking at his bare throat. Bands of some kind on his wrists, though... He fingered one thoughtfully, then looked at his reflection again.

There’d been a fight. He’d definitely been fighting, to get this beat up. He looked down at his sore ribs but got quickly disoriented and again rocked back on his heels.

Suddenly there were two men by the bathroom door, and Dean dropped to a fighting stance.

One man held up his hands, saying, “Easy, brother, take it easy---”

Dean felt a slithery fear nestle into the pit of his gut. Two hands meant fight. No, two fists meant fight. But if he were in the hospital, he shouldn’t be trying to hit anyone, which was what he was ready for... He tried to ask what he was supposed to do, but couldn’t formulate the words. Hadn’t been able to for a long time, now.

He reeled back again, holding his fists over his eyes.

“Hey, man, stand up straight and look at me.”

He heard and smelled _alpha_. He opened his eyes immediately to see the second man standing in the doorway holding nothing but a couple of towels and a bottle. He stood up straight, as he was told, without thinking, but could only stare at the towels. He couldn’t look the man in the face. The smell of alpha made him gag.

“My name’s Benny. I’m a tech here and I’m going to make sure you get showered, and then we’ll see if we can’t get those cuts looked at again, a’right?”

This guy hung up a towel on a short peg by the door and spread a second one on the floor in front of the curtains.

“Right, strip off those pants and we’ll put them through the wash, what do you say?”

Dean again did as he was told, and stepped into the shower. The new guy turned the handle, and Dean yelled as a wall of cold water hit him in the solar plexus.

“Steady, there, brother,” the new tech rumbled. His voice was velvety and he had some kind of southern accent, but Dean felt the alpha steel underneath.

The water warmed quickly, but it was shut off just as fast and he was handed a white bottle.

“Wash everywhere with this-- but don’t get it in your eyes-- and then we’re gonna wait for a second and then rinse it all off, okay?”

Dean stared at the bottle. He read it, but as soon as he turned it over in his hands, he forgot what it had said on the label. He turned it over again. It was a delousing soap. It smelled slightly bittersweet, and he doubted it would do anything to block his scent.

 _Omega bitch, trying to pass for a beta. Stupid, ignorant slut, did you think I couldn’t tell just by looking at you?_ Alistair’s taunts still echoed in his ears.

He desperately wanted a scent blocker, the thought of going without one make his hands shake, but he did as the man said and used the thin gel anyway. Benny gave him directions, and Dean dutifully used up most of the bottle, scrubbing wherever he was told to-- his hair, his scruffy beard, his armpits and between his legs.

The water came on again, and this time Dean was ready for it, hunkering in the corner until he could face the blast. He rinsed off quickly.

“Alright, that’ll do it. Now we got that out the way, dry off and let’s see if these’ll fit you,” he said, handing Dean a pair of light blue pants.

They fit loosely, and Dean fumbled for a few seconds trying to find a drawstring. He started to feel dizzy. Instead of a drawstring, there were snaps in the waistband, and he realized these were hospital pajamas.

He was in a hospital.

A huge black circle appeared in the center of his vision and he felt himself falling


	4. CRAVING

When Castiel finally got to the hot line, all that was left was toast, gravy, a handful of dried out home fries, and a vat of crusty, darkening oatmeal. He went with oatmeal and coffee, and on impulse, picked up the last orange instead of his usual banana. He pressed it to his lips and inhaled deeply; the skin smelled slightly bitter but he suddenly imagined how sweet the juicy flesh inside would taste. His mouth watered and he thought that after last night he needed the extra vitamin C.

Castiel sat across from Alfie, but they worked on their breakfasts together in silence.

The patients from C Wing-- omegas and a few ambiguous betas who’d been admitted to the behavioral center with behavioral issues-- were just finishing up and starting to wander around the dining room. He watched Elijah, a restless schizophrenic omega who had trouble keeping his clothes on, out of the corner of his eye. Elijah swore and muttered threats under his breath, sometimes he yelled obscenities, and was always either taking off or putting on a shirt or a hoodie, but Castiel knew that he was rarely actually violent. If anything, his behavior often provoked other residents.

As Castiel squeezed two packets of honey onto his oatmeal, Elijah sat down next to him.

“G’mornin’ Dr. Novak.” He jittered on the seat, causing Castiel’s coffee to slosh. Castiel took a quick gulp to bring the level down a little.

“Good morning, Elijah, how are you?” he asked, trying not to grimace from the still hot coffee. The canteen only served decaf, but at least it was warm and fresh.

“I’m good, I’m good.” He pushed his elbows into his shirt and flipped it inside out, showing off his abdomen all the way up to his nipples, and raised his chin, baring his neck.

“Elijah, please put your shirt down,” Castiel said evenly. On top of the inappropriate and over-the-top show of submission, Elijah absolutely reeked, his body odor attesting to his lack of hygiene as much as it did his mental state. His scent flickered rapidly from fear to aggression to arousal no matter what he was actually doing. Along with his language, it often set off his neighbors and had even affected a couple of new techs before they got used to it. Naomi didn’t like anyone under her watch to use a nasal spray or even a quick swipe of block stick on their nose, because there was a chance they might miss an aggression cue; Castiel wanted to be sure to tell the nurse on duty that Elijah absolutely had to have a shower today. No matter how difficult Elijah could be, not making him bathe was unacceptable. Right now he was scenting overpoweringly of arousal, and Castiel, who usually was never affected by Elijah was suddenly a little nauseated. Even the smell of popcorn didn’t have this effect on him. He looked away, uneasy.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Elijah said, relaxing his hands and looking down with a nervous giggle. “Can I have that orange?”

Even had Castiel wanted to share, and he felt suddenly and uncharacteristically possessive of that orange, he knew better than to give Elijah any food. The young man was always hungry, but usually mistook shared food as a sign of favoritism, or worse sexual interest. He was harder on the women than the men, but Castiel had learned quickly to just not feed Elijah.

“No, Elijah, that orange is mine.”

“But I’ve only ever seen you eat bananas.”

“And today I chose an orange.”

“Why?” Elijah started fumbling at his shirt again.

“I’m not sure,” Castiel answered thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about oranges all morning. Leave your shirt alone.”

“I don’t _even_ know the craving for the pure sweet taste of Florida oranges. Do you, Dr. Novak?” Elijah didn’t wait for an answer, but started looking around restlessly.

“I think your friends are lining up,” Castiel said, which was loosely true. Several other residents were idling by the door while the C wing techs finished up their own breakfasts and gathered Styrofoam boxes for patients too ill or unruly to come to the canteen.

“Oh yeah, there they go, there they go, those motherfuckers.” He yelled across the room, “Hey, time to line up!” He looked at Castiel again, canting his head well to the side and raising his chin just a little, and whined, “Can I have that orange, though?”

“No, Elijah, the orange is mine,” said Castiel, smiling mildly but straightening his posture and leaning forward.

“Okay, okay, that’s true enough,” Elijah said, backing off. He got up and wandered around the tables to the door. “Hey, can we play spades later? I’ll teach you! I’ll teach you like you taught me,” Elijah called across the room.

“If I have time, I will,” Castiel said without really promising anything.

Elijah nodded and pulled his shirt up again.

“Elijah, put your shirt down,” said Alfie as he stood up to take his tray to the window.

“Stop it, Elijah! Goddammit keep your stinking clothes on!” yelled a small young omega woman in a pink hoodie named Melissa who was highly antagonized by Elijah’s existence. She was unable to look anyone in the face, and had been admitted for a severe episode of postpartum depression. Her family called the police after she threatened to harm her baby, and she was extremely lucky to have ended up here instead of in jail. And unlike Elijah, she would be back with her family as an outpatient as soon as she’d been on antidepressants for a few days.

Castiel finished his coffee, and decided to just pocket the orange, after all. He stood by the door, waiting to follow the milling patients out. He had to start somewhere.

\-----

It turned out that the omega from the fight club had woken while Castiel was in the canteen but had then passed out again in the shower.

Castiel went to the duty station, locked his bag and his coat in the office used by the case workers, and glanced through the logs. Anna breezed by, looking for something on the desk.

“Good morning, Castiel,” she said, holding out her hand for the clipboard he held.

“Good morning, Anna. Do--” he started, but then hesitated, hoping that he wasn’t becoming infamous among the nurses and techs for being slightly obsessed with the fighter. The hell with it, he decided. “Do we have an ID on the omega from the fight club yet?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Anna hummed, handing the clipboard back to Castiel and grabbing a file from a desk behind her. She flipped through it, saying, “Dean Winchester, Lawrence, Kansas... reported missing by his brother about four months ago.”

“His brother is his next of kin, then?” Castiel asked, relieved. _At least he doesn't have a mate,_ he thought, and was suddenly flushing with embarrassment.

“As far as I know. Dean’s still in and out, so we haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.” She put the file down and went across to B wing. Castiel was tempted to peek at the file, but instead left the duty station and walked slowly down the hall, heart racing, toward the room number on the file’s tab.

Castiel looked Dean over from the doorway, leaning against the jamb. He was curled on his side, facing the door, with a rolled-down paper bag parked by the bed in case he threw up again. The swelling around his eye had gone down quite a bit, and he had butterfly strips over a few cuts on his face.

He was beautiful.

And he smelled absolutely perfect--

Castiel stepped out of the room, mortified.

Benny stared at him from a chair by the door, but he didn’t truly care what was going on with Castiel, and turned back to the sudoku he’d been scribbling on.

Castiel leaned straightbacked against the hallway wall with his hands deep in his coat pockets, palming the orange he’d stashed there.

The omega smelled like... what was it? Bread? Or no, like warm orange rolls, with a thick glaze on top and just a little ribbon of the scent of honey-- orange blossom honey-- running underneath. He glanced at him again, fighting back an urge to go to the omega’s bedside. Suddenly the unconscious man seemed like the only thing important in Castiel’s universe.

Realization collapsed on him like a blanketing rain.

Everything everyone had written, from The Symposium to Soulmates By The Numbers, was all true. It wasn’t mythology or empty poetry-- this was a real phenomenon. This man that he’d truly never met before in his life was suddenly the most precious soul on earth. And Dean smelled, to Castiel, like an amalgamation of the most comforting scents from Castiel’s own memories. Orange bread. His grandmother’s beehives, and the smell of old honeycomb. Or, no, Dean smelled like Dean, he had his own unique, slightly sweet scent, but dizzyingly that smell was also oranges and honey. He quite literally, to Castiel, smelled like love. Like home.

Like _mate_.

He must have scented Dean over the haze of the arena and the impenetrable reek of the baby oil, but he had only barely registered omega, much less the scent of a true mate. When he thought back, somewhere underneath the smell of distress and anger and the damned oil, Castiel had to have registered Dean’s native scent, however faintly. It explained his brief obsession with oranges and honey over the last eight or so hours.

And it wasn’t just the scent-- he knew that scenting just opened the gates for the rapid-fire evaluation that occurred when people met their truemates.

He knew intellectually, from journals and studies and documentaries, and an experiment involving synthetic pheromones that failed famously, that scent-mating happened when two people, usually male and female but not exclusively so by any means, reacted to one another’s pheromones and instantly, unconsciously assessed genetic compatibility. The current theory about truemating, which was not just instantaneous attraction but also intense longing, that the pheromone scenting opened up a flood of hormones and neurotransmitters and allowed truemates to immediately make remarkably accurate evaluations of personality and psychological traits and appraise potential consonance nearly instantaneously. This was still just a theory, as there was no possible way to study a true mate encounter.

It was a process that bordered on the superhuman. Or the mystic.

One look, one scenting, and it was done.

True mates always said that they felt destined to be together-- they used metaphors like being struck by lightning or being hit over the head. Being reunited with a missing part of themselves. And Castiel had always rolled his eyes and moved along. It was really all just chemicals.

Something about the omega in that warehouse had registered deeply with Castiel. What it was he might never know. But the moment he took this second look at Dean, he felt something slide into place, filling a gap he’d never before been aware of. He was torn between elation and a deep sense of desperation.

He realized now why he was so reluctant to release the man after he’d passed out, why he’d been so obsessed with checking in at St. Brigid's all night, and even why he’d sent him to St. Brigid's in the first place-- it was an old shelter, still privately funded, with a behavioral health program and actual doctors and nurses on staff... and for which Castiel had a long history of consulting. He even had a keycard. Truemating even explained why he’d woken up that morning with a semi despite the gruelling night he’d just had. He'd found his truemate-- he felt like sweeping into the room and gathering the sleeping man into his arms and never letting go...

But he was also aware of how vulnerable Dean was right now. Sick, exhausted, and he'd probably blacked out the entire operation last night. He wouldn't remember meeting Castiel. As devastated as that made him feel, he knew that the best thing for both of them would be to leave and avoid the omega at all costs... if he could.

He knew, from anecdotes and studies and articles and documentaries, how truemates reacted when they found each other.

Now, however, he _knew_.

And it couldn’t have happened under worse circumstances.

Without another word, he walked quickly down the hall and keyed out of the ward. He had no idea where he was going.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> St. Brigid’s story is [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brigit_of_Kildare) . I thought her a fitting namesake and I can imagine that in a historically a/b/o world that her patronage might extend to abused omega men and women.  
> And thank you for all the kudos and lovely comments!


	5. BLACKOUT

Dean woke again, feeling less groggy than before, but just as dull and leaden. The top of his head now felt like it was going to pop off. And he felt... lonely.

A word was rattling around in his head, on the tip of his tongue. Vast? Past? No... Yell? Yellow. No, not that, either.

He could feel the word drape over his thoughts, but couldn’t quite get the whole shape of it.

He sat up, the man at the door just glancing over his shoulder at him.

“Decided to join the land of the living, did ya?” he said loudly. It was the man who’d made him shower earlier. _Alpha_.

Dean said nothing.

He was in a hospital. He was wearing hospital pants. A clean tee shirt was folded on the table next to him. Except he wasn’t in a hospital bed.

An IV stuck out of his left hand, the capped-off tubing taped back on his wrist, the large strip of tape making the skin on the back of his hand wrinkle strangely. There was an empty IV stand next to the bed, which made him feel nervous.

He pulled the shirt on as quickly as he could.

He’d been in a fight, but he knew now that he had blacked out. He didn’t remember anything after taking a surprise uppercut from a knothead he’d fought a couple of times before.

Did the guy knock him out? He swayed on the bed, trying to remember. He felt like it was desperately important that he remember how he got to this place, whatever it was.

He felt like he needed to find someone. A nurse? No, he had no idea who, just an urgent feeling that he needed to see someone important.

Suddenly his mouth was full of bile and he was retching emptily into the paper bag at his feet.

“Hold up, there, buddy, I believe you’re runnin’ on empty,” his guard said, walking towards him menacingly.

Dean stood up, tried to get the bed between him and this trainer, but tripped on the foot of it and sprawled on his ass. He panicked-- he’d thought this was a hospital. What the hell kind of place was this?

The trainer continued to advance on him, hands out.

The collar was gone.

He’d die before he let this guy collar him again. He kicked out in a sweeping arc, trying to knock the man’s feet out from under him, but he still didn’t have his bearings and missed completely.

“Rob! _Rob!_ I could use a little backup here,” the trainer yelled into the hall.

In a moment, phone guy was at the alpha’s back. “Just stay right there, make sure he doesn’t get out in the hall if this doesn’t work.”

The alpha squared up on Dean. “Dean Winchester, stand up right now.”

Dean’s gut twisted again. Damned if he was going to--

“Up!”

Reflexively, Dean managed to get into a fighting position again, and took several steps away from the trainers. He snarled, still unable to say anything. They knew his name, his real name.

“Now we can knock you out again, or you can take a few breaths and calm down,” the alpha said, taking a step towards him.

Dean didn’t move. He felt like he was locked in place.

_Attack him._

He wanted to tackle the alpha to the ground, but at the same time he couldn’t move. This wasn’t fighting. He had to keep absolutely still, or he would--

“What’s it going to be?”

_Alpha._

And Dean saw, out of the corner of his eye, the IV in his hand, and hospital bands on his wrists.

Hospital.

He remembered the riverbank, and sweet summer grass... Someone telling him he was safe.

But this alpha, this _trainer_ shouldn’t be in a _hospital._

He felt overwhelmed.

“Dean, look at me,” the alpha growled.

Something shifted in Dean. A shift he'd fought against with all he was worth, before...

_Omega._

He crashed to his knees. Confused, head pounding, stars swirling at the edges of his vision, he clenched his fists at his side and looked down and to the left, baring the side of his neck.

Waited for the trainer to tell him what to do next.

\-----

Castiel made it to the lobby, where instead of leaving the building he ducked into the mens’ room and splashed water on his face.

Whatever was happening to him regarding that fighter-- _Dean_ \-- didn’t negate the fact that he still had obligations at St. Brigid’s. He needed to interview the men and women who had been sent here last night, he needed to find out if they had a safe, or at least reasonably stable, place to go. He needed to make sure they’d met with their case worker... He couldn’t just run out.

But he could avoid _him._

It was likely that Dean didn’t remember anything from the night before. He’d already been dosed as Castiel reached him, was already punch-drunk from fighting, was likely already confused when his slave-trader trainer fled and was replaced by men in SWAT gear, who promptly shot him...

Dean certainly didn’t need something like a truemate encounter on top of whatever trauma his four months under Alistair had left him with.

Castiel could get Rachael to work with him. He should call her in anyway-- it was just past nine and he so far he had accomplished absolutely nothing.

There was a chance that Dean wouldn’t scent him as a truemate anyway, which was a scenario that Castiel found crushing to consider.

He leaned on the sink, gripping it until his knuckles turned white, because every instinct in his body screamed for him to go back to C Wing and crawl into bed with the sleeping omega and fight off anyone who wanted to hurt him more.

He felt a nudge of panic.

He needed backup.

He called Rachael.

\-----

“Sonova bitch, nuh-uh,” the trainer said, shaking him by a shoulder. “You don’t have to do that here.” The trainer looked over his shoulder at the other man.

“Well that worked pretty well, didn’t it?” the man said to the trainer, snickering.

“Shut up,” the trainer snapped, stooping in front of Dean. “Come on, now, stand up, brother.”

Dean still couldn’t move, couldn’t look at the alpha. He couldn’t handle the sudden change of tone, because now he wasn’t sure if this _was_ a trainer. Kneeling was training. But this was a hospital. But that was the wrong kind of bed...

He whined and squeezed his eyes closed. He was about to break down completely.

“Dammit all,” the trainer said, stepping back. “Dean, stand up for me,” he said more gently.

Alpha was giving him a command, so Dean stood up cautiously.

“Thank god,” said the trainer, who stepped aside and motioned towards the door. “Let’s go out into the day room, okay? Let’s get you out among some friends, a’right?”

Dean stepped forward, still suspicious.

When he got to the doorway, he froze. Under the reek of the alpha and the sour smell of the beta guard, he could just make out the scent of a river. The smell of fresh water, river cane and tall grass, and an undertone of something sweet but dusky, like well-worn leather. He thought of the interior of the Impala suddenly, and fishing by the Kansas river. He was rooted in place.

He heard the man behind him drawl, “The hell? Hey, snap out of it. Let’s go. Day room-- make a right and start walking.”

But Dean followed the scent left. Toward a set of double doors, beyond which he saw more corridors. He passed a glassed-in area with offices and desks within, and walked dazedly up to the doors and pressed his hands to the bars, but they were locked. He rattled the doors, but they just shook in place loosely.

He had to find someone. There was someone out there he needed to see. He craned his head, looking down the hallways.

“Buddy, ain’t nothing over there that you need to worry about,” the trainer said, taking his arm.

The corridors were empty. Feeling alone and hollowed-out, Dean let himself be led away.


	6. UNFOCUSED

“Rachel, thank you for coming.”

“It’s not a problem, Castiel.” She looked tired and a little harried, but was as intense and professional as always. “I think the women would feel better talking to me, anyway. Inais was amazing last night, by the way. He’s interviewing three evacuees over at Madison Street, actually, and then once we get these six here, we’ll be done with initials.”

“Inais has the potential to be a great advocate,” Castiel agreed. “I may need to you interview the man from the fight club, too, Rachael,” he said cautiously.

Rachael was clearly disappointed, and scented slightly aggressive suddenly. “I don’t see why. If you’re uncomfortable, then we could have someone from the precinct take his statement.”

Castiel was surprised at how quickly Rachael had seen through him. He was uncomfortable, but should he tell her why? He had decided to talk to both Captain Stengel and Dr. Shurley, the director of St. Brigid’s, first, but was that just delaying the inevitable? He was going to have to come clean to all of his colleagues that he had scentbonded to an omega from an evacuation, eventually...

“I don’t think he and I will have a very good rapport. If he remembers anything from last night, he may associate me with the SWAT officers.” It wasn’t quite a lie. He could not risk running into Dean. If Dean scented him and had the same reaction, it could derail his recovery from the trauma of the fight club.

Rachael sighed. “Fine,” she said, looking at Castiel askance.

“Thank you, Rachael,” he said quickly. “Dean-- ah... the fighter’s name is Dean Winchester, and he’s still out of it from what I understand-- he and another female evacuee are in C wing. She’s having severe anxiety attacks, but we need both of their statements if at all possible.”

Castiel and Rachael went directly to B, one of the residential wings at St. Brigid’s and greeted the four omegas from the raid the night before who had been admitted into the shelter.

The four were watching television with other residents of the shelter. Two women were huddled together in the back talking quietly, and he wondered briefly how bizarre it must be to have been yanked out of misery in the dark of night and hours later be watching daytime talk shows. He wondered how long some of them had been in the underground. He thought of Dean, settling back into a routine that was close enough to reality as possible at St. Brigid’s, and that calmed his restlessness somewhat.

He commandeered the therapy room for himself, allowing Rachael to use the smaller and more comfortable activity room for her interviews, and asked one of the men to join him inside. He took out his statement forms and tried to focus.

This man was in his twenties, and wouldn’t look directly at Castiel, who was moderating his voice and body language all he could, trying to subdue his alpha presence.

His story was typical-- he’d been kicked out of his home when he’d presented at fifteen, and had lived for most of his life on the streets and in various other shelters all over the country. Eugene, Seattle, Boston, even a brief time in Las Vegas. He’d made a living hustling, and would bug out into another city every few months. Castiel thought, seeing the way he picked at his arms, that maybe they were going to have to send him to a rehab facility... He’d probably not used as long as he’d been held captive, but once he was out on the streets that would be the first thing he’d go to for comfort.

The young man had been bin-diving when he was abducted. As he told this part of the story, he began to shake. Castiel went to the sink and poured him a dixie cup of cold tap water.

“I always have my guard up. Always. People disappear all the time, you know? I’d seen those guys earlier, but they didn’t give me a second glance, I thought. Waited until I was up to my ankles in a dumpster...”

“Did you get a good look at either of them?”  
“Kind of. I mean, I don’t think I could do one of those facial reconstructions, you know? But I can describe some of the people I saw pretty well.”

Castiel took copious notes-- trying to help the young man pin down dates and locations. He was one of the four who’d been up as an alpha/omega play slave, and had a surprising amount of information-- once he’d warmed up, he was more than willing to share because his rage about being taken out of his life was stronger than his anger about being made a plaything. By the time they’d gotten to the night before, his fury was palpable.

“They thought I was stupid, you know? Like I wasn’t noticing road signs or accents. I can tell the east coast from the west coast! How dumb did they think I was?”

Castiel brought his attention back to the young man in front of him. He had been wondering how many times Dean had been moved around the country-- in four months he could have been in every large city in the nation at least once. The odds of him ending up here when last night’s raid went down were probably pretty slim.

He snapped back and took his time debriefing the young man, letting the omega’s anger dwindle to a manageable level, then explained again what kinds of services would be available to him-- housing and work programs, and he mentioned rehabilitation briefly. That did get a flicker from the interviewee, and Castiel’s stomach sank.

He closed with, “We’ll be in touch,” and gave him a business card and a handful of pamphlets, and hoped that the task force would move quickly before this guy had moved on to yet another city.

Forty-five minutes had flown by. He called in the second man, and in the moments between interviews found himself wondering if he should check in with Anna and see how Dean was doing...

\---

Dean sat in a sagging blue chair near some kind of desk area next to a closed roll-up window. There was a television, and several other people were there quietly watching some sitcom he didn’t recognize. He looked around, feeling a little numb. The trainer sat quietly in the chair next to him. Dean couldn’t look at him, so he studied the other people in the room.

One woman, a small, thin, frazzled-looking omega with a Halloween turtleneck on smiled at him shyly. He looked away, a little freaked out by her out-of-season shirt. He didn’t know exactly how long Alistair had him, but he was sure it couldn’t be October yet. Surely. He could see outside, but only into a concrete patio. There were trees just over the wall, and to his relief they were still green. I made her attire no less creepy.

He still couldn’t pinpoint what kind of facility he was in. The alpha next to him had made him submit with just a word, but what on earth was the training for? He was wearing hospital pants and had some kind of wristbands on, but this didn’t feel quite familiar. Pale blue pants, a yellow band and a white one on one wrist and a pink one on the other... was he in some other kind of training facility? It was a far cry from the barns and basements where Alistair had forced him to kneel or submit for hours, beating him and yelling commands, forcing him to bludgeon other omegas bloody.

A beta nurse leaned down in front of him, breaking that train of thought.

“Hi, Dean, I’m Anna. I’m a nurse here and I have a question for you.”

Dean tried to ask where ‘here’ was, tried to say hello back to her, tried to say anything. To his horror, all he could do was tip his head back. He wasn’t safe. If he were safe, surely he’d be able to answer her.

“Okay, fine,” the nurse said gently, and added, “We got hold of your brother last night. He said he’s flying out to see you. He asked us to call him as soon as you woke up. I’d like to tell him how you’re doing, but you have to give me your consent. okay?”

Dean nodded. Yes, he’d like to give his consent, but he was still tongue-tied and felt blasted open.

“So all I need from you is your patient number, and I can leave him a message for you.” She waited expectantly.

What was she talking about? Was this some kind of test? He could barely remember a woman with black hair telling him something about numbers the first time he came to, but he couldn’t pin anything else down.

Again, all Dean could do was tip his chin up. What was going on? He felt more than a little panicked.

“Dean, you have to tell me your patient i.d. number in order for me to tell your brother how you’re doing. Can you tell me your number?”

He knew his phone number. He knew Sam’s phone number, he knew both of their birthdays, their parents’ anniversary. He knew the date of the day he’d been nabbed by Alistair’s goons. He didn’t know today’s date. And he sure as hell didn’t know anything about a patient i.d. number.

The nurse shot a look at the trainer next to him.

Dean felt hot. They thought he was stupid, and he still didn’t understand why he couldn’t speak, why he couldn’t just explain that he didn’t know what they were talking about and ask for help. He hadn’t spoken once Alistair had him running in the omega fights because he didn’t need to. Just had to do what he was told. Here, though... whatever here was...

He looked down at the white, yellow, and pink bracelets on his wrists and turned them frantically. The pink tag on his right hand had nothing on it at all, the yellow band on his left had only a barcode, and the white one below it was printed “Doe, John” with a small QR code next to that. Who the hell would print a wristband that no one could read? And they knew his name, so why did he have a band on that named him as a John Doe? He felt queasy again. He wanted to ask where he was, why he had to tell them some number that he didn’t remember having ever been given, why he couldn’t just see his brother--

“Dean, if you can’t tell me the number I can’t tell your brother anything. Is that okay with you? Because I don’t think it is. I think you want your brother to know how you’re doing.”

Dean tried to turn his wristband around so the nurse could see it, tried to show her that he had no ID on him at all. But she didn’t understand, she continued to gaze at him with concern, and he flushed hot again. His skin started to crawl. He suddenly wanted to lash out and hit her-- of course he wanted her to tell his brother how he was doing, was she an idiot? He squirmed, balled his fist up, but the trainer put a hand on his shoulder and he sat back. He knew he shouldn’t want to lash out at the woman-- fuck, she was a nurse-- but he was so terrified and confused. He was losing his chance to get to Sam.

“Dean, are you not going to tell me your number?”

She was kneeling in front of him, looking into his eyes, speaking gently. He could tell she was a beta and she was trying to be as unimposing and docile as possible, but despite himself he pulled back, looked away from her and bared his throat.

He felt hot all over, now, and knew by the prickle in his neck and hands and along his belly that he was scenting submissive. He flushed, not understanding why any of this, from the quiz about the identification number to his own baffling, unwelcome behavior, was happening.

“Okay,” she said, standing up, and Dean went limp in disappointment and a strange sense of relief.

He felt dizzy and tried to stand up. He wanted away from these people, away from the Halloween lady and the pushy nurse, and this guy-- Benny-- who wasn’t a trainer but had definitely wolfed out on him.

“Where you goin’ brother?” the man asked Dean.

Dean didn’t reply. He had nothing to say to these people anyway. He just wanted to go lay down and sleep until Sam got here. She’d said he was on his way.

“Just hold out for a little bit longer, okay? We’re going to lunch here in just a bit and I know you don’t want to miss that.”

Dazedly, Dean sat back down, hanging his head in his hands. He could hold out. Sam was on his way.


	7. TRAVEL PLANS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added tags, details in endnotes if you need to doublecheck.

He was stuck in Atlanta for two more hours. The direct flight from Kansas City was booked, and even putting himself on standby he’d not been able to get a seat. Dizzyingly, he’d had to go all the way north to Chicago in order to get to Atlanta before lunchtime and then to his final destination by that afternoon.

The call from St. Brigid’s was unsatisfactory to say the least.

Sam took several breaths, edging away from panic. Dean couldn’t give his consent to release his medical information. That was... that was dark. Could he not even sign a waiver? HIPAA was the federal law that protected patient confidentiality, meaning absolutely no information could be released about a person’s medical care without their express written or verbal consent, and Sam knew that it was damn hard to get around it.

He’d received some information before the HIPAA gate came crashing down-- his brother had been found in an underground omega fight during a raid of an illegal auction. He’d been drugged for some reason and was unconscious, and at first they’d told him he’d been taken to an omega shelter in the city somewhere. He’d jumped on an airplane and this was his first chance to check in on Dean. And now, he was being stonewalled.

That meant that something serious had happened in the last five hours, something that caused his brother to be admitted as a patient in a mental ward. And they couldn’t tell him anything about it.

Sam knew there was really only one way to get around the legal block if it didn’t resolve itself soon, and that route would be an absolute last resort. He’d have to see his brother in person before even considering it. He had no wish to be Dean’s legal conservator, even if it was pro tempore.

He read the involuntary admission laws for the state and printed off a few pages. Fortunately family court in the city met four days a week and held night court every Wednesday, so he shouldn’t have a hard time getting on the docket if he needed to. He decided if nothing else, he could at least try to get a message to Dean.

Sam punched in the number to St. Brigid’s front desk from his notes, and this time asked to be transferred to the patient advocate.

“St. Brigid’s behavioral health Center, this is Pamela Barnes, how can I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Sam Winchester. My brother is a... a patient there? Dean Winchester? I spoke to a woman named Dr. Naomi McWhorter earlier...”

“I can transfer you to her voicemail--”

“That’s okay,” said Sam quickly, deciding that he didn’t particularly want another head-to-head with Dr. McWhorter. “You’re probably the person I need to talk to next, anyway. I didn’t have a lot of time to talk with Dr. McWhorter, I’m in transit and had to catch a flight. I haven’t been able to get any information from you guys about my brother other than the fact that he’s there and he’s alive.”

“Has he signed a HIPAA waiver?”

“I have no idea-- shouldn’t you know that?”

“I can check his file.”

That was all she was offering. These people at St. Brigid’s were scary rigid.

“Mr. Winchester,” Ms. Barnes began after a few moments, “we’re often contacted by family members asking for information about our residents and sometimes our patients don’t want details disclosed, for a variety of reasons. Some of the omega-designated persons that we intake here are vulnerable or under duress-- sometimes they’re in danger from the very people who tell us that they’re only concerned for their ‘loved one’s’ safety. You’ll have to understand why we don’t bend the rules. I haven’t spoken to your brother myself, but it is possible that he may not want you to have that information...”

“No, not Dean. He’d never...” Sam broke off, a sliver of doubt making its way into his mind, “He’d never keep anything from me. Can I talk to him, maybe?”

“He can call you at any time.”

That information chilled Sam. Dean could call him? Then why hadn’t he?

“Can you... can you get him a message, at least?”

“I can do that,” Ms, Golden said.

“Tell him... just tell him I’m in Topeka.”

 

 

“It gets easier, you know, getting around this place.” The woman with the Halloween shirt sat on the other side of Dean and patted his hand comfortingly.

He just stared at her and drew one foot up under him. He didn’t like the feel of the cold floors on his feet, and was a little unnerved by the woman next to him. Her eyes were unfocused and she kept picking at her shirt.

“I know you’re lost, they move things around so much. When I first got here, it was such a huge place and so busy and I didn’t have any of my things, I thought, _Lord, what am I doing here?_ ” She laughed as though she’d just told a joke, throwing her hands in the air and tossing her head back.

Benny, on Dean’s other side, leaned over and said, “You’re doing just fine now, aren’t you Millie?”

“Oh, surely, I am. We’re going to the picking any time now, just waiting for a ride,” she said smiling and chuckling. Turning her attention back to Dean, she said, “I laughed and laughed at that garbage, but I never did swim so fast in my _life_.”

He glanced at Benny. The man was smiling at Millie fondly, and then he winked at Dean.

A wave of nausea crashed over him. Even though this seemed like a perfectly normal conversation, nothing this woman said made any sense, and the conspiratorial wink from the trainer-- no, not a trainer, he had nothing to do with Alistair, Dean reminded himself-- made him feel sick.

“You doin’ a’right there, brother?” Benny asked him, and Dean managed a quick nod. “Millie is a sweetheart--”

“You don’t have a sweetheart and haven’t since he bought that damn bicycle,” Millie said, scandalized. “ _That one,_ he just wanted me to have my head back all the time, the asshole. Used to hit me and the girls if I didn’t.” She broke off, staring to one side, a look of raw anger on her face.

Dean wanted to tell her he was sorry, that he’d known assholes like that himself, that he, too, had fought his whole life to keep his head forward and eyes locked on theirs, but he was afraid that it might set her off more. So he kept his peace.

“It doesn’t matter any more,” Benny said gently, “we’re going to help you find a new place, right Millie?”

She brightened. “That’s true. I’ll get to see my girls again.” She turned in her seat to face Dean fully. “Do you like my shirt? They gave it to me-- it’s my birthday today!” She picked at her shirt again, which was stretched-out and dingy but the little jack o’lanterns and scarecrows were still sharp.

“Happy birthday,” Dean rasped, and Millie got up and wandered over to the window, where she stood looking up at the treetops.

“Well, it was very strange the year before last, but it’s all fine now,” she said to no one.

Dean turned back to the television.

He still couldn’t focus-- the large screen had been set to motion flow and the sitcom now looked like a home video, which was disconcerting. He looked up when he heard the distinctive sound of high heels coming at him with purpose. A dark-haired woman was making her way down he hallway. She held a clipboard at her side.

“Dean Winchester?” The woman had a wry smile. He wondered what on earth this one wanted from him. He just nodded, still tongue-tied.

“Can I borrow him for just a minute?” she asked Benny, and she sat down in the chair that Millie had just vacated. “Dean, my name is Pamela and I’m the patient advocate here. I just spoke to your brother and I think we need to do a little bit of paperwork. He wants to know how you’re doing, but we don’t have a signature from you that would allow us to tell him what’s been going on while you’ve been with us. Are you comfortable signing this thing?” she said, holding out her clipboard.

He glanced over it. The header said “St. Brigid’s Behavioral Health Center.” That rung a bell. That was a fancy word for a mental hospital. Suddenly realization came crashing down on Dean and he scrubbed his face, trying to absorb he new knowledge.

“This is where I’m at?” he asked, pointing to the letterhead. His voice was still barely above a rough whisper.

“Oh, honey,” said Pamela, unexpectedly putting an arm around him, “you’ve really been out of it. Yes, this is a behavioral health unit attached to an omega shelter called St. Brigid’s. You were brought here last night after an operation that recovered almost two dozen other omega-designated persons. Do you remember that?”

Dean shook his head. He didn’t recall anything after the beginning of a fight, and that he could only remember disjointedly.

“Alright, when you’re ready, there are plenty of people here who can talk to you about what happened. Right now you just need to remember that you’re safe, alright honey?”

You’re safe. The words went through him like a shot of freezing water. He felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. He remembered hearing that, now, from someone else. Someone he couldn’t quite remember...

But the words, he could hear them plain as day-- a rough voice, hands on his shoulders. _I’ve got you. You’re safe now._

He realized that Pamela was speaking again.

“Dean, if you want to sign this I’ll let him know how you’re doing.”

Dean signed, hands shaking. It didn’t even look like his real signature.

“You can use the patient phone in the vestibule to call him whenever, but he wanted you to know that he’s in Topeka. I’m sure he’ll get here as soon as he can.”

Dean sat back in shock. _Topeka_. That meant Sam was almost there. Any time he came down from Lebanon, he’d text Dean from Topeka so Dean would know he would be in Lawrence in about a half an hour. Sam was almost there, and if anyone could get him out of this mess, it would be his little brother.

“Would you like me to call him for you?”

“Yes,” Dean croaked, his eyes burning. He knew he couldn’t do it himself yet. If he could even get the words out, he knew he’d just freak Sam out even more than he probably was.

_Topeka_

As Pamela walked away, the window by the counter suddenly rolled up, and several of the other patients in the room either stood up or sat at attention.

 

 

Rachael and Castiel wrapped up their second round of interviews and as they left, the St. Brigid’s residents were in the B Wing day room listening to the nutritionist explain how carbohydrates affected their glucose levels. Castiel noted that his second interviewee was studying the handout intently. This might be the first time since elementary school that some of these individuals would have been given information like this, and Castiel was glad to see someone taking it seriously.

He thanked Rachael for her help, and followed her to the duty station, as she was going to track down Dean and the other omega from the evacuation the night before.

Rachael began to pass through the station to C wing when Naomi called to them from an interior office.

They entered uncertainly.

“Dr. Novak, Officer Prior, I assume you are about to interview the FC and the female victim from last night’s operation?”

“I am,” Rachael answered curtly, and Castiel wondered if she resented his earlier request.

“I just thought you should know that the FC is in rough shape. In fact, I just Kallinger Acted him this morning. I don’t think you’ll get anything out of him yet.”

Castiel started. “You Kallingered him? Why?” The Kallinger Act, or the Omega Mental Health and Safety Act, was an old law that had been enacted at the turn of the last century, ostensibly to protect the public from mentally and morally unstable omegas. Among other things, it allowed omegas to be incarcerated or institutionalized against their will as long as a judge agreed with a family member or a doctor that the omega either needed rehabilitation or was a public menace. Omegas had been, and sometimes still were, locked away for alcoholism, for drug abuse, for psychosis and bipolar disorder, for schizophrenia-- like Elijah-- or in times past for just being an omega that a family was ashamed of and unwilling to support. There was a designation-free counterpart to the law, but the holding criteria was much more stringent and Castiel doubted that Naomi could have used it to detain Dean.

“He’s attacked two members of our staff, and has been non-cooperative and won’t interact with either techs or our floor nurse. I just wanted you to understand. When you try to take his statement, if you can get anything out of him, a tech will be with you at all times.”

Rachael straightened up. “These are confidential--”

“I am not going to be responsible for an incident involving anyone in this facility,” Naomi said sternly. “His behavior is inconsistent at best, and at worst unpredictable and violent.”

Castiel felt as though he were being suffocated. He wanted to bolt out the doors and into the day room to find Dean. He needed to know that he was safe, see for himself that he was coping, that he was sane. But he clenched the handle of his briefcase until it dug into his palm.

“Fine,” Rachael said after a moment, looking quickly at Castiel. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Naomi, and they clicked out of the office.

Castiel sidestepped into the case worker’s office and sat at the desk with a sigh. He just needed a minute to breathe.

It didn’t help that just below the smell of laundry and disinfectant and a hundred other people blowing through the small vent in the ceiling, he could just make out the scent of oranges and honey.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added tags for panic attacks and PTSD for events in this chapter.  
> Chapter 8 will be up tonight.


	8. FIND THE RIVER

Dean saw busy movements in the small area behind the window. Lots of cabinets. Lots of signs written in bold red and black letters, that he couldn’t read from his angle. The red-headed nurse from earlier bustled around, checking a clipboard and doing something with lots of bottles.

After a moment she came to the window and called a name. A faded-looking man in a thin plaid shirt and worn dress slacks, who’d been sitting several seats away quietly watching the television, stood up and went to the window.

Dean watched suspiciously for a moment.

“It’s meds time for some of the folks staying here, Dean,” Benny said softly. “I don’t think we got anything for you yet.”

Yet. His stomach turned again.

Dean tried to focus on the television, but he’d never seen any of these programs before and couldn’t concentrate. He wondered if he was still in the states, even. Maybe he’d ended up in Canada. He thought that he should try to find Benny’s accent comforting.

“Dean,” called the nurse, “could I see you for just a moment?”

Dean froze, staring over his shoulder at her.

“Dean, I just want to talk to you about a medication. You don’t even have to take it, okay?”

He stood up slowly-- he movement was surprisingly hard for him-- and forced himself to get as close to the window as he could.

‘Dean, do you see my hand?” she said, holding it up like she was waving ‘hello.’ “See this glove? This is medicine, okay? Any time any of us have one of these blue gloves on, we’re going to talk to you about medications or anything else we think you might need, okay?”

He nodded again, trying to breathe more steadily.

“You have a prescription for Ativan, if you need it,” Anna said. “Have you ever heard of it?”

After a moment, Dean was able to shake his head.

“It’s an anti-anxiety drug, all it will do is help you relax, okay? That’s all it does. And you can decide when to take it, okay?”

He nodded again, not wanting to take it at all but at least he understood what she was trying to tell him. Blue gloves were okay. He could take something but only if he agreed to it. He was beginning to suspect that he’d been drugged the night before, but he had no idea who doped him or when, much less why. Alistair had shot him up with something on the night they ambushed him, but it hadn’t left him feeling like he had last night.

“Buddy, you want to take it now, it would be a good time. We’re about on our way to lunch, and you might be able to enjoy a good meal this way.”

It had maybe been a day since he’d eaten, and he’d retched himself dry the night before. Could he trust the food here? What if there were drugs hidden in them?

He waffled for a few seconds, uncertain what he wanted to do, unsure which of his own thoughts he could trust. Finally he shook his head. Not yet. He thought that maybe he was finally starting to think clearly and didn’t want to jeopardize any forward progress he might be making.

“Okay, I just want you to know it’s here if you need it. You don’t have to wait until the window is open-- just ask me or Benny, alright?” The nurse went back to her clipboard and called another name.

Dean looked up as the doors at the end of the hallway to the left opened. Two serious looking women strode down the corridor, one dressed in grey pants and a grey jacket, her hair pulled up in a severe bun. The other wore a black suit and toted a briefcase.

They brought with them the smell of the river. He stepped toward them, trying to pinpoint the scent to one or the other, but couldn’t. He didn’t know what to make of the fact that they both backed away from him quickly.

He turned away, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He felt so lost, suddenly, like he was homesick for a place he’d been told didn’t exist.

The woman in grey stood by the counter, putting the corner of it between herself and Dean, and looked the room over briefly. She turned to Benny, saying, “Officer Prior wants to take a statement from Mr. Winchester. I’d like you to stay with them,” she said pointedly.

Dean turned around again, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The woman in the black suit held out her hand. “I’m officer Prior, and if you feel up to it I’d like to get a brief statement about what you might remember about last night?”

Dean shook her hand and nodded, and the woman in the grey outfit led them to a large room with several tables and cabinets that said ‘Therapy Room.’ There were strange pictures on the windows-- coloring pages and pictures of people with the proportions all wrong. They felt vaguely malevolent. One page was an Easter scene with green and orange rabbits surrounded by haphazardly colored black eggs. On the counter sat two tumblers holding crayons and markers, next to a puzzle of world flags. Dean stared at these details for too long, trying to get them to make sense. He was in a facility for mentally ill adults, surrounded by things that reminded him of first grade.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Officer Prior said, pulling chairs together. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water? No?” As they took seats around one of the tables, Prior began to pull a notebook and some forms out of her case.

Benny settled next to Dean, and the officer sat next to Benny, just around the corner.

“I have to remind you that anything you hear here is confidential,” she said to Benny in a low voice, and he nodded in agreement.

That made Dean feel a little dizzy. What was going on?

Turning to Dean, she said brightly, “This is just a preliminary interview, Mr. Winchester, we’re just looking right now to get your recollection of the events of yesterday, okay? Later on, we’d like to talk to you about your past four months, when you’re feeling better.”

Dean cleared his throat, feeling words slip away from him like ice in a cup. He wanted to ask where she’d been, who she’d come with-- the impulse to look for someone else, someone unseen, in the room was strong, and he was having trouble sitting still. He felt like this officer was a beta-- her scent was mellow but off-putting, like everyone’s was, but she smiled easily and didn’t quite challenge his gaze. But the way she sat in the chair, bolt upright, watching him intently... He started feeling _alpha_ from her suddenly.

Then he realized, friendly demeanor or no, he was alone in a room with two alphas.

Terror washed over him and he stood up, knocking his chair over.

“Easy, now,” said Benny, putting a hand on his arm. He jerked away.

“Can I go?” he asked. His voice sounded rusty and hoarse. “I need to go.”

Benny stood up, angling himself between Dean and the officer. “You can go, nobody’s keeping you here, but Officer Prior’s got some questions for you.”

His heart was pounding. He stared over Benny’s shoulder. “I ca-- I can’t,” he rasped, stepping sideways to get around Benny to the door. The smell of alpha was making it hard to breathe. His vision narrowed. He dropped to his haunches, head down.

“I can come back another time,” he heard the officer say.

“Might be best, maybe we’ll give you a call when he’s doing better?”

“Sounds good.”

He sensed Benny squatting in front of him.

“Dean? Let’s take long, deep breaths, okay?”

Dean held up a hand to keep Benny away, and put one hand on the floor to steady himself. He hated the chill of the floor, it reminded him of countless basements and warehouses and garages he’d been kept in, been made to fight in.

“Deep breath,” Benny said, an edge of alpha creeping into his voice,

Despite himself, Dean gulped in a shuddering lungful of air.

“You wanna think about that Ativan now? Deep breath, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. No meds. He had to get to where he could think, dammit. If he could just get someplace alone, if he could just figure out where that water-scent was coming from, if he could just go home...

“Another deep breath, Dean, you’re doing fine. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Dean took several more deep breaths. He focused on the legs of the chair next to him. The end caps were surrounded by blue dust that reminded him of laundry lint. He saw more of the dust bunnies in the corner of the room. He imagined sweeping them all away, and his breathing leveled out.

He stood up, still standing well away from his alpha shadow.

“Good job. Now you want to white-knuckle these feelings, that’s no skin off my nose, but there’s no good reason for you to be feeling this way right now.”

“I’m good,” Dean grunted.

“If you say so. Let’s go to lunch. Get something in your stomach finally, a’right?”

Dean nodded and left the therapy room, Benny a short distance behind him.

 

 

Castiel sat at the desk for several minutes. He checked his phone, read quickly through a blitz of emails, and answered a few. He heard someone key into the duty station, and looked up to see Naomi standing in front of him.

“Can I see you in my office again, Castiel?” she asked quietly.

Castiel squared his shoulders and sat calmly in front of Dr. McWhorter.

“Castiel, I’m hearing that you’ve taken an unusual interest in that FC?”

Castiel waited, knowing that Naomi was hoping for him to elaborate, and not particularly wanting to.

With a sigh, she continued. “We have, from time to time, had alphas volunteer or even join our staff simply because they have a more-than-professional interest in the omegas we serve.”

Castiel looked away, feeling slightly ashamed. This was what troubled him the most, what bothered him about the scent-mating that had nearly occurred between him and Dean Winchester. From the time they presented, omegas had to fight off lust-blinded alphas, they had to walk through the city in twos and threes, and when they _were_ assaulted, getting justice was an uphill battle. He knew well that many alphas had a fetish for omegas, and that sometimes people were even willing to buy their fellow humans from one another in order to indulge their fantasies. He’d never been uneasy around omegas, and even though he didn’t share the still common view that alpha/omega relationships were unnatural, he’d never been affected by anyone, regardless of designation, like this. Yet here he was, after all, just another alpha sniffing after a broken omega.

And then he caught it. Honey and citrus-- Dean was close by.

 

 

In the corridor beyond the double doors that separated the residential wings from the administrative offices, the patients of C Wing were lining up for lunch.

Dean was still disoriented, and didn’t necessarily want to stand in line with the other omegas. He felt crowded, there must be a dozen people milling about in the corridor. He didn’t see anyone else who seemed like a fighter except for a lean young man who kept lifting his shirt. On the one hand, that gesture he kept making with his shirt was reassuringly _omega_ , but on the other hand the man’s stalking and muttering and rapidly cycling scents made Dean want to knock him down.

He scrubbed the back of his neck and paced.

“Dean, you want to stand back here with me and Miss Millie?” asked Benny.

He tried standing next to them, but was too restless to stay in one place. He paced further down the hall.

One petite woman with a pink hoodie pulled close around her cheeks was crying quietly. Why was she so upset? Did she know what was going to happen to them once they went through those doors?

He suddenly remembered the last time he’d eaten-- he’d been given a fast-food meal while the other omegas in the motel room with him were given a bag of potato chips each. He’d been instructed to put on a good show, or else none of them would get to eat the next day. He wondered suddenly what had happened to them, and his gut twisted. He remembered Tina staring at him as he ate.

He paced in the hallway, wanting to look through the large doors into the corridor beyond, uncertain where they might truly be going.

He caught a scent suddenly, coming from behind those doors.

Dean knew that scent. He knew it and he had to follow it. He was going _home._

He lunged for the doors, knowing that they would be locked but not caring, throwing himself against them and feeling them rattle satisfactorily. Maybe he could actually break them open...

 

 

“Castiel,” said Naomi quietly, “We’ve been working together for years, now. I know you’re iron-clad. What else is going on?”

Castiel broke. “Naomi, I think Dean Winchester is... I believe he is my truemate. Ever since encountering him at the warehouse last night, I’ve been unable to get him out of my thoughts. I even... I went by his room to see if he was awake, to see if he could make a statement, and...”

She was quiet for a moment. “I see.”

“But he won’t remember our meeting,” Castiel added quickly. “He’d already been drugged when I got to him at the warehouse. I didn’t even realize it myself until earlier today. My partner will interview Dean.”

Dr. McWhorter just looked at Castiel thoughtfully.

Suddenly they heard he doors beyond he office rattle violently. Castiel heard Benny yelling. He scented distress, Dean’s distress, and bolted out of his chair.

 

 

Dean charged the doors again with all he had, but they again bounced back, remaining closed.

The other omegas scattered silently.

Suddenly he felt himself being pulled away by the trainer. He pulled back and punched the man solidly in the gut. The trainer recovered quickly and grabbed Dean by the wrist. His backup caught Dean by the other arm, and tried to get his hand twisted behind him so he could angle him to the ground.

The trainer said evenly, despite the solid hit he’d just taken to the abdomen, “No need for that. We just need to know what’s gotten him so worked up.”

Dean relaxed just long enough to get the second man to ease up on his arm. But he stayed at the door, straining just a little, wondering how he could get both men down at once and get away from them.

 

 

Castiel ran toward the double doors. From the window of one he caught a glimpse of a face, a face that had been carved into his memory after just one encounter.

_Dean._

He then heard someone shouting, “Dean, stop it. Relax, brother, let it go!” and without a further thought he yanked his keycard out, breaking it off of the lanyard, and once he’d slammed open the door he dropped it to the floor behind him.

“Get off him,” growled Castiel, wrenching Benny away and spinning Dean out of Rob’s grip.

Dean righted himself quickly, grasping at Castiel’s shirt, trying to pull him closer, burying his nose in Castiel’s neck.

Castiel clutched him, holding him close, scenting Dean just as deeply. But he suddenly pushed him away, instinctively, and with a hand under Dean’s chin he turned Dean’s head one way, checking the long line of his neck and the tight swell of his shoulder, and then the other, examining that side as well, looking for a mating bite. Dean’s shoulders were unbroken.

Dean shook his head, understanding what Cas was looking for. He stared at Cas down his nose, his instinct to bare his throat to his mate warring with the urge to look at him, to memorize him.

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes, feeling like every freckle and pore, every eyelash and the jagged green patterns in his eyes were being seared into his memory. He pulled Dean back in, burying his face in the soft skin behind Dean’s ear. “Hello, Dean,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I told you, you’re safe.”

Dean dropped his head to Castiel’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his ribs tightly.

 

 

Naomi was right behind Castiel, and took his arm as he and Dean broke apart again.

“Go on to the vestibule with Dean, Dr. Novak. Rob, Kirsten, take everyone to the cafeteria. Benny, could you stay back please?”

“Alright y’all,” drawled Benny to the other residents, who were milling around uncertainly. “Go on, stop rubbernecking. Get a move on, Elijah. You too, Miss Millie. Head to the dining room.”

Dean let Castiel draw him into a tiny, darkened room he’d never noticed before with three more sad-looking chairs in it. and a beat-up beige phone on one wall. There was no door, but there was a sliver of privacy now that the other residents were gone. He sensed Benny and the doctor out in the hallway.

“Who are you?” Dean asked the stranger, more desperately. He smelled like the river, he seemed familiar-- like they’d met before, a long time ago, and Dean was devastated that he couldn’t remember when.

“My name is Castiel. Do you-- do you remember me?” he asked cautiously. It was done. Dean was here, in his arms, the bond was tightening, pulling them even closer. He let his lips feather the corner of Dean’s mouth, though he wouldn’t kiss him. Yet. Not here, not yet.

“Maybe?” Dean shook his head, causing him to feel a little dizzy. “I was scenting you everywhere. _Cas_.  And I was just so... _lost._ ”

“I’m so sorry, I-- I hoped you wouldn’t remember me. This is the last thing you need to deal with.”

Dean sniffed, nosing into Castiel’s hair, but suddenly pushing him away to arm’s length. “Why do I feel like I know you, like you’re... is this what it’s like? Is this what it's like to bond?”

There was a long silence as Castiel chose his words carefully.

“We met last night. You were in a warehouse by the waterfront for a... a fight. Do you remember that?”

Dean nodded. “Some of it. I... I think I went down once-- then I remember everyone yelling and running and then... I remember someone telling me I was safe. That was you?”

Castiel nodded, taking a tentative step toward Dean again, drawn in by his scent, his presence. He was taller than Castiel by a couple of inches, and Cas found himself drawn under Dean’s gaze like floodwater under a bridge. “There was an operation to break up the fight club and end an auction that was going on above.”

Dean turned away.

Castiel had no idea how to explain the tranq incident, though, without giving Dean yet another thing to be afraid and mistrustful about, but he knew he was going to have to.

Dean was letting pieces slot together. There _had_ been a fight last night. If a police raid had put an end to it, that would explain how he’d gotten away from Alistair. But it didn’t explain why he couldn’t remember anything. Unless...

“Was I knocked out?”

Castiel hesitated.

“No, unfortunately a member of the police force had... a tranquilizing gun.”

Dean went rigid, and he spun around to glare at him. “Wait. I was tranqed like a-- a rampaging gorilla?”

Castiel found himself on his back foot from the man’s intensity. “I’m so sorry Dean. It’s why you don’t remember anything, it’s why you were so sick earlier.”

Dean was quiet for a long time. “Did I try to... did I hurt anyone?”

“No. No you didn’t. And it shouldn’t have happened like that. It’s my fault--”

“Why? Did you shoot me?” Dean asked seriously.

“No, no absolutely not. I just feel like I could have been there sooner. And I didn’t understand until just a couple of hours ago that we’d... that I at least had started to bond with you when I found you there.”

Dean had grown very still. Fight, police, a tranquilizer. He’d heard of those, omega tranqs-- of course he had. He realized that now he was the kind of omega that they were made to use against. And the tranq explained the blackout.

Cas had found him last night. He’d scented him, he’d bonded with him.

And Dean had done the same.

But where had he been all this time? All morning when Dean felt lost and abandoned, when the ground kept shifting beneath him, where was his alpha?

“I don’t remember you. This isn’t fair, I don’t remember.” Dean was overpowered again by the sense of the river. He fought to stand his ground even as he felt himself drowning.

He stood, barefoot and shivering, in front of his mate. An atrocity, an omega who hurt others. Broken and confused.

An omega who was being drawn into his mates arms, unquestioningly. An omega who despite everything was suddenly... beloved.

He clutched at Castiel again, falling towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the REM [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBNfkj7Io78) of the same name.


	9. CONNECTIONS

“What happens now?” he whispered into Cas’ neck.

Cas wanted to give him an answer. He felt obligated to have one, as though by not knowing the next step he was letting his new mate down somehow.

“I don’t know,” Cas answered honestly.

He was surprised to see not puzzlement or uncertainty in Dean’s eyes then, but a challenge-- a quirk of his lips told Castiel that Dean had decided exactly what should happen next. He began to feel hazily aroused by Dean’s closeness and the warm, sweet scent of his skin. Their proximity suddenly wasn’t intimate enough. He needed more.

Then Dean dipped into the gap between them, canting his head and catching Castiel’s bottom lip between his own.

Cas kissed him back, softly, gingerly, but Dean pulled Cas’ lip in and nipped it between his teeth.

Cas drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and pulled away, locking eyes with Dean again.

Dean glanced down to Castiel’s lips and smiled a little self-consciously.

That was the moment that Castiel knew that he had fallen in love. He hardly knew him, but the brief kiss and the saucy half-smile spoke volumes.

He and Cas leaned into one another, neither speaking for a long time. Castiel rested his forehead on Dean’s shoulder, acquiescing to the truemate bond that was quickly cementing between them. Dean pressed his cheek into Cas’ hair, and from time to time pulled him even closer.

“Dr. Novak--” Naomi began from out in the hall.

“Just a moment, Naomi,” answered Castiel. “Just give us another minute.”

He heard Naomi shuffle restively in the hallway beyond.

“You have to go, don’t you?” said Dean.

“I can stay.”

“But you _should_ go, shouldn’t you?”

Castiel didn’t answer for a moment. “I can’t go knowing you’re scared or-- or hurting. I can’t.”

Dean took a long breath. “Can you come back later?”

“I think so. I need to talk to the director, and I need to talk to Nao-- to Dr. McWhorter. If nothing else, visiting hours begin at five thirty and they can’t keep me away.”

Dean stiffened slightly. “I’m not staying here. My brother’s coming. I can meet you tonight--”

“Dean,” Cas said, stopping him, “you may have to stay here for a couple of days.”

“No,” Dean said flatly. “I’m good. I think my head’s clear now, I feel fine.”

“Dr. McWhorter has admitted you as a patient based on the way you were acting earlier. I think you’ll be here for a bit.”

Dean shuffled, pulling away from Castiel.

Cas stepped forward, running his hands up Dean’s arms to his shoulders, then put one hand at the back of Dean’s neck and drew his forehead down. Dean stilled.

“You need this time to make sure you’re truly in a good space. You can use this time to rest--”

“Rest? How can anyone rest here? This place is full of nut jobs--”

“Last night you were fighting alphas. This morning you were attacking staff--” Dean pulled back harshly but Castiel continued, “I know, I know, that wasn’t _you_. But now we’ve met again and I’m afraid that we can’t be together and I don’t know what that’s going to do to us, what that’s going to do to you. Are you really ready to walk back into your life right now?”

He felt the air leaving Dean’s chest.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he answered Cas in a tight voice.

Without a thought, Castiel pushed Dean into the crook of his neck, running his own cheek along Dean’s temple, marking him with his scent. “I’ll be back. We’ll know more this evening. Your brother will be here. I’ll be back too. I’m coming back to you, I promise.”

Dean took a bracing breath and pulled away, running the side of his face against Cas’ jaw, feeling the drag of his stubble across his cheekbone, and nodded.

Castiel heard Naomi enter the vestibule. “Dr. Novak, I understand that what has just happened here is exceptional, but I’d like a minute to talk to Mr. Winchester, and I believe you have other obligations pressing as well.”

“Goddammit,” Cas whispered, and reluctantly let go of Dean’s shoulders.

 

 

“Can I call my brother first?” Dean asked the doctor, who pursed her lips but nodded curtly.

Dean watched Cas as he skirted chairs and asked the doctor for a word down the hall. He saw her hand something to him and they walked out of sight. He immediately wanted him to come back, but he knew he needed to be alone to get his head back together, or as alone as he could be with the Cajun bear lurking right outside.

He sat down in the sad blue chair next to the phone. This one was more worn than any of them-- the armrest near the wall was grimy and permanently dented by hundreds of leaning elbows.

Calling Sam had just been an excuse to get a moment alone, but Dean realized that he didn’t know when he’d get another chance at it.

He picked up the receiver and was surprised that the cord was so short. There was something just not quite right with this place that he couldn’t put his finger on. He listened to the dial tone until it began to stutter, then pressed down the clear paddle to reset the phone line and dialed Sam’s number.

It went to voicemail after one ring.

Dean slumped in relief when he heard his brother’s voice, but realized with a start that he had no idea what to say in a message. He didn’t want to call again, however-- he didn’t want Sam to see two missed calls and get anxious.

“Hey, Sammy,” he began, “it’s Dean. Look,” he paused and cleared his throat before continuing. “Look, I think there was some... confusion this morning. I’m fine, I mean, I’m doing okay for now. I signed something that will let them give you my info but really, I can tell you everything there is to know. I was, ah, out of it until this morning, and don’t remember much, but I’m back.” His voice cracked on the last word. He took a deep breath, willing away tears. “They told me you were on your way. I guess you’re on a plane, so maybe I’ll talk to you when you get here? I just... I can’t wait to see you, bud...” He took a deep breath. "Alright, talk to you later.”

He hung up slowly, settling the greasy receiver in the cradle but holding onto it for just a moment. He felt a squeeze of panic. What would Sam think when he saw him? Beat up, unshaven, thin and dressed like a sick person?

“Dean?”

The fluttering in his chest intensified at the gravelly voice.

“I believe Dr. McWhorter would like a word with you.” Cas held out his hand, and Dean took it, holding it tightly.

Benny followed several paces behind.

He walked Dean over to a small office in the hall with nothing but a desk, two chairs, and an outdated computer on it. Inside, the starkly dressed doctor sat on the power side of the desk with her hands in her lap.

“I’ll be right out in the hall,” said Cas, squeezing his hand.  
“Please, join me for a moment,” she said to Dean stiffly.

He sat down in the chair opposite, rubbing the palm that Castiel had just grasped.

“Dean,” the doctor he’d heard Cas call Naomi said sternly, “My name is Dr. McWhorter. Do you understand by you’re here?”

“Because no one knew what else to do with me?”

She blinked at him, her mouth in a tight line. “When you came in you’d been drugged and our staff on this wing are best prepared to deal with difficult or unusual behavior. But once you’d woken up and decided to attack our staff, I filed paperwork for a mandatory seventy-two hour observational period.”

Dean was stunned. Three days? “Why? I didn’t mean to... do what I did.”

“And that’s what worries me,” the doctor said. “What you’ve been through is beyond anyone’s experience. There have been only four other omegas in recent memory who have survived the omega fights. All of them have had... issues. We’re trying to do what’s best for you and everyone around you, Dean.”

Dean didn’t put any stock in her concerned smile. He clenched his jaw. He wanted Sammy. He wanted Cas. Cas had warned him about this, but to have someone tell him he couldn’t physically leave a building until he was certified or something... He felt a little curl of fear again. What if this woman decided he was crazy? What if he couldn’t keep his nose clean while he was here, especially the way some of the other omegas acted. The guy they called Elijah got under his skin big time. He barely felt like he had control of himself yet.

Cas wouldn’t let him rot here, surely. Neither would Sam, and he knew Sam was a force to be reckoned with.

“Fine,” he said after a long moment. “What happens after seventy-two hours?”

“You would in theory be free to leave. You could either stay here at St. Brigid’s until you felt like you are able to reintegrate successfully, or you could just go straight home, with the stipulation that you see a psychiatrist within seven days.” She waited for him to react.

“I want to go home now. I feel fine.” He wondered how they would enforce the seven-day requirement once he got back to Kansas. There was no way they could keep him in the city for another week.

“I’m sure you think you do, Dean, but the hold is mandatory. It’s state law. We have to monitor you for a while before you can be released. There’s no debating this, so my advice to you is to be as open and honest with us as you can so we can help you get back on your feet.”

There was something hidden behind her words, Dean was sure of it. He didn’t think it was malicious... he felt like she was almost disappointed.

“Okay, so I just hang out here for a couple more days?”

“You should view this as an opportunity, Dean. You’ll be seeing me once a day, and you’ll have two daily process groups you can attend. There are structured activities, which I urge you not to disrupt even if you don’t feel like participating.”

Dean realized where this was going. If he didn’t want to have this lady go full Cuckoo’s Nest on him, he needed to keep his hands and feet to himself and play nice with the other kids. He nodded noncommittally.

“Can I go?”

Dr. McWhorter looked at him over steepled fingers. “Yes, if there’s nothing else on your mind. It’s almost time for process group two.”

“And after that do we get recess?” Dean asked snidely.

Dr. McWhorter smiled tightly. “After process group there is an outdoor period. I imagine you’ll want to take advantage of it after what you’ve been through.”

That caught him up short. He’d not been outside during the day except for short periods of time for four months now. His eyes prickled and he looked down so the doctor couldn’t see that she had actually stung him a little. He knew better than to antagonize her anymore. He just wanted to go back to Lawrence, crash on his own bed, and drive Baby again. He’d done months of beating other men bloody, halfway wishing at times that one of them would just kill him. He could do three days of playing Mad Libs with Miss Millie.

He stood up and found Cas waiting in the hallway. Unthinkingly, he wrapped his arms around him again.

“Will you be okay until I get back this evening? Really?” Cas asked him.

“I will.” It felt like a promise. It was enough for Cas, who broke away and clasped his hand again. “I’ll be fine,” Dean said, trying to mean it.

\-----

The flight from Atlanta had been mercifully short, but it had also been the last leg of a four city tour, if he counted driving to Kansas City. In the end it had taken Sam the better part of the day to get to his destination.

As soon as the plane landed, he turned on his phone to check for missed calls or emails. There were two messages from numbers with the same prefix. From St. Brigid’s.

He sat back wearily and listened to his brother stumble through a voicemail. He sounded wrecked. Well, he sounded like he was wrecked and was holding himself together by his fingernails. Sam could tell. But he made sense, he wasn’t falling to pieces or talking gibberish-- he was Dean. Sam decided to wait to get off the plane to try to call him back. He’d waited months to hear from him, he didn’t want to be distracted by his fellow passengers trying to get their shit together.

The next message was from the patient advocate, Pamela. Her message was brief-- after all that work, all she told him was that his brother was doing well and looked forward to hearing from him. _Really_ , he thought to himself, _they couldn’t have given me just that much before?_ There was no explanation as to why he couldn’t have spoken to Dean earlier, either.

He debarked as quickly as he could, hardly bothering to be polite. He didn’t usually use his size to his advantage outside of a courtroom or a deposition, but now he didn’t hesitate to shoulder ahead of other passengers in the jetway.

He was exhausted, his eyes burned and his ears hurt. And he was annoyed.

He felt like his brother had just been dumped at this shelter-- and how could that be a good thing, on its own?-- and because he’d been squirreled away in some kind of bullshit mental ward Sam couldn’t get a damn bit of information about him. He’d spent his layover going over all the different options besides getting conservatorship, but all roads led to the same end.

And then Dean called to let him know everything was okay, after all. Always the big brother.

He’d packed light and paid the extra fee to take his bag as a carry-on, so he made his way straight to the rental car bay.

The young woman behind the counter took one look at him and didn’t even bother to offer him anything smaller than a full size sedan. He took a white ‘14 Chevy Impala with a small private smile.

He’d already found a cheap but well-rated motel-- he was dipping into their savings to get the flights, and had also been using the account to pay the insurance for both Dean’s car and Dean's half of the garage, as well as the rent for his apartment, for the past four months... but it was _Dean_. Jess understood, saying she would do the same for either of her sisters. Sam took her understanding gratefully and it helped steady him for whatever he was going to face in the days ahead.

He drove out of the garage, circled back through the airport maze, and pulled into the cell-phone waiting lot. The number Dean called from apparently connected directly to the main reception desk. He was transferred somewhere else after explaining who he needed to talk to.

“St. Brigid’s Omega Behavioral Health Center, this is Anna. How can I help you?”

“I need to speak to a patient at the Behavioral Center. His name is Dean Winchester?”

The young woman on the other end of the line said, “I can take a message to him and have him call you.”

“Seriously?” Sam snapped without thinking. “You can’t just go find him? I’ve been trying to talk to him all day!”

“The residents in the BHC are at lunch, right now, so I’ll have him call you back,” she said icily.

“Listen, um, Anna, I really didn’t mean to be short with you back there. I’m his brother, I’ve come all the way from Kansas to get him, and I’m tired and frustrated. Can you tell me anything about how he’s doing? I’m pretty sure he signed a HIPAA waiver earlier.”

“Let me check,” said Anna, and he heard nothing but silence for a moment.

“He did. He’s doing a lot better than he was earlier, it took a while for the tranquilizers to wear off, so he was having trouble... finding himself.”

Sam’s thoughts froze. “Tranquilizers? What did you guys do to him?” he asked darkly.

“Mr. Winchester, is it? He was _brought_ to us unconscious. Do you... do you know what’s happened to you brother? Do you know why he was brought here?”

“I know a little,” Sam said in a small voice. “An Officer Prior told me that he was found in an omega fight club and had been taken to you guys, but I haven’t been able to get any real information until now.”

“I don’t know if I’m the best person to explain this to you, but he was shot with a tranquilizing dart by someone with the SWAT team involved in the operation, and was out by the time he got here. He was seriously disoriented this morning. He’s doing better, I spoke to him about an hour ago and he’s still... Well he’s scared and confused, but he’s coming around. I’ll let him know you called, and if you’ll give me his number I’ll see if he wants to call you back, okay?”

“He has my number, he’s already called me,” said Sam dully. The importance of what she’d just told him was sinking in. He hadn’t really processed yet what he’d been told by the police about his brother being in a fight club. The media didn’t cover omega trafficking very much, and what he’d found online was sketchy and couldn’t possibly have been happening to Dean. Omegas forced to fight alphas, or other omegas from other clubs-- he knew his brother wouldn’t have done that. He knew they’d been holding him, trying to break him, possibly for four months, and he had no idea what conditions Dean had had to endure, but there was just no way...

Dean had fought his whole life to hide his omega designation. He’d easily passed as Beta for his entire adulthood. And he had just been through the worst that an omega could possibly endure.

It had taken an omega tranq-- something that Sam thought was a relic from the omega panic that had gripped the country back in the fifties-- to knock him out so they could take him to a shelter.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. He’d sounded like regular old Dean, not a killer. There was no way.

“I didn’t... I didn’t know that,” he continued after a moment. “You’re sure he’s doing better?”

Anna’s voice was warmer, although still serious. “There’s going to be an adjustment period, he’s been through an experience most of us can’t imagine. So all things considered, he’s doing pretty well.”

“Thanks,” said Sam more calmly. “Really, I appreciate your help. Um, just tell him I called. Can I see him, if I come by?”

“Our visiting hours start at five thirty and end at seven,” she answered. “Come by and see him then.”

“Yeah, I will, thanks.”

Sam called Jess next to let her know he’d landed. She knew already, she’d been tracking his flight. He told her he’d heard from Dean, but didn’t elaborate, and promised to call back later in the evening.

He had more than four hours to kill. He decided to go ahead to his motel and check in and find something to eat. He thought that maybe this would be the last normal hour or two he’d get before finally seeing his brother.


	10. COMING CLEAN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated a while ago. They're in the end notes (to avoid spoilers) if you need details.

As he left Dr. McWhorter’s office, Dean spotted Anna at the counter. Benny walked away far enough to talk to someone at the double doors leading towards the cafeteria.

He took the opportunity to talk to the nurse while she wasn’t busy with other patients.

“Hey, is there any chance I can get this out?” he asked, holding out his hand with the IV in it.

“I think so,” she answered sweetly. “We needed to keep you hydrated last night, but it seems like you can take care of that yourself now,” she said smiling. “Hold on.” She walked to a door behind the desk and stepped back out in just a second, wearing blue gloves and holding a cotton ball and a strip of tape. Pressing the cotton to the place where the needle went into the vein in the back of his hand, she pulled the tape off of his skin and slid the needle out. She then taped the cotton ball down.

“How are you feeling now? Any anxiety, any more attacks like earlier?”

Dean just shook his head to her last question and flexed his hand experimentally. It was still sore, but much less so.

“Thanks,” he said, and Anna smiled again and stepped into the door to dispose of the IV needle.

Benny approached him with two styrofoam boxes ahead of a crowd of returning residents. “You pretty much missed dinner but Rob brought us back some vittles. Come on,” he said, nodding toward the activity room.

Dean followed him in, turning left as other patients went right into the therapy room for process group, whatever that was. Benny set them up at a table under the small television. There was some kind of documentary playing about a team of archaeologists unearthing a Civil War era cemetery, and Dean watched with half his attention as Benny grabbed a couple of forks from a cabinet and pulled some brown paper towels out of the dispenser next to the sink.

“You want a glass of water?” he asked, pulling out a couple of paper cups, the sort that restaurants use for take-out orders.

“Please,” said Dean, his mouth suddenly feeling sticky and dry.

Inside the styrofoam box was a grilled cheese sandwich and a handful of ripple-cut potato chips. A dollop of red Jell-O took up one of the divots in the box. Dean had had nothing but fast food and gas station eats for the past twelve or so weeks, and this was close enough to homemade it made his eyes water. He took several gulps of water and then dug in.

The toast melted in his mouth, and even though the sandwich wasn’t very hot any longer, he appreciated the salty heaviness of the cheese.

“Brother, how long has it been since you had a decent meal?” asked Benny, obviously more used to complaints about the food.

“Too long,” Dean answered, his mouth full.

They ate in silence, and Benny even offered Dean his chips. Dean refused, feeling over-full even before scarfing down the gelatin.

“Can I... do you think I can get a toothbrush, maybe?” asked Dean as he finally threw away his styrofoam.

“Lets go over to he desk and see if we can get you a kit,” Benny said, leading him to the counter area next to the day room. He rummaged around in a cabinet behind the low bar and pulled out a weird mesh baggie with a toothbrush, a small tube of toothpaste, a skinny bottle of multi-purpose wash, and a small, slim plastic brush. No scent blockers.

Benny sauntered over to a closet and pulled out a couple of towels, a washcloth, and a pair of white canvas slip-on shoes.

“We have these in small and large right now. And no razors, sorry,” said Benny unapologetically, handing Dean the bag, “but this should get ya more than halfway decent. Your jeans should be dry, too-- Lets run over and hunt them up for you.”

Dean accepted the items hesitantly. “No razor? Not anywhere I could use one?”

Benny gave him a strange look and answered, “Not here, brother, but I’ll tell you what. There’s a gal comes in here once a week to give haircuts and whatnot to our residents and overnighters, I’ll see if she can work you in. She might be here tomorrow, if you can stand yourself that long.”

Dean shrugged, slightly embarrassed. He could wait a day or two. He started towards his room and Benny walked easily at his side. “Here, before I forget,” he said grabbing a clipboard off of the counter at the duty station near Dean’s room, “write down the names of anyone you want to be able to visit you later.” He handed Dean the clipboard with a list of residents and their approved visitors, and Dean wrote down his own name and Sam’s beside it on the sheet. Hesitating briefly, he also wrote down ‘Cas Novak.’ He realized that he didn’t know how to spell Cas’ first name, and he only hoped he’d gotten the last name right. It was a strange feeling, wanting to kiss or bite every part of a person while knowing next to nothing about them.

They went to another solid door that said ‘Laundry’ and Benny keyed in and checked the dryer. Dean’s pants were the only thing in it, and he took them gratefully.

“Do you have to come with me?” Dean asked as they turned back to his room, getting annoyed at having a constant shadow.

“I’m gonna stick by you until I get the go-ahead to leave you alone, a’right? I won’t come in the bathroom or anything, but my job today is to keep an eye on you.”

Dean nodded, clenching his jaw.

In his room, he realized for the first time that he had a roommate. There was another bed behind a hospital curtain that had been made up hastily, and there were folded clothes on the second desk. He counted himself lucky that no one else had been around when he was so loopy that morning.

He hung one towel in the bathroom and the hook gave way unexpectedly. He flipped it back up, and a light went on in the back of Dean’s mind.

The whole place was engineered, from the too-high shower curtains to the string-less pants to the hooks on the wall that tipped down at a feather’s weight, to keep the residents from hurting themselves. The phone cord was too short because if it were any longer, it could go around someone’s neck. They used paper bags instead of plastic ones as trash cans because plastic could suffocate or strangle someone, patient or staff. Even the mirrors were metal and not glass.

No razors in the shaving kit.

He pressed his back against the wall near the door. He suddenly without a doubt understood why they’d put him in the mental ward. Not necessarily because they were afraid _of_ him, but _for_ him.

 

 

Castiel walked with Rachael into the police department precinct, unprepared and shaken. He’d made copies of Dean’s file before leaving St. Brigid’s and saw that he had, in fact, been treated for shock upon arrival at the shelter. Rachael noticed his mood, asking Cas if he were ready for the briefing. Cas answered that he was, but Rachael saw the lie.

“Did you finally get anything from that fighter?” Rachael asked him.

“No. We’ll talk about it after this,” Castiel stalled.

There would be about fifteen minutes for him to gather his thoughts before the captain called everyone in, and he had to work to stifle his panic over the fact that Dean could have actually died during the operation last night.

Tranq guns.

He had to focus on what went wrong, from his standpoint, and not what had happened between him and Dean.

Concentrating on his recollection of the night before helped clear his mind, and soon he was jotting an outline on a legal pad. He noticed that Rachael had her remarks printed out. He’d asked her to speak about the recovery of the others as he’d missed most of it.

This was the hot briefing-- there would be a much more in-depth analysis in the next week where the team would go over the operation in minute detail, but for now they would just process the big picture.

Captain Raphael Stengel called the briefing to order even as officers and detectives continued to file in. Even without their gear, they looked rough and dangerous. These were hard men, and he had to get in front of them and tell them that they’d screwed up. This would be after their captain very likely reamed them for letting Alistair slip away.

He sat through the first segment of the briefing while the men in front of him were partly praised and somewhat castigated by their captain. Several other high-profile targets had slipped away, mostly out through the lower level docks. Whether this was due to inside knowledge leaked from the police department wasn’t addressed. Charges were being brought successfully against everyone else arrested, and they were rolling on each other, giving the department good leads on how and where to find Alistair and his crew next.

Rachael was invited up before Castiel, and spoke highly of how the recovered persons were treated, how swiftly the SWAT team had acted to segregate the omegas and evacuate them to hospitals. Then it was Castiel’s turn.

He took his place at the podium and squared up his notepad.

“Last night, you all helped recover a man whose been missing for four months, from an omega fight club. I know that most of you understand what a fight club is, and what it means to get someone out of one.” He tried not to look at Lieutenant Walker before he continued. “There have only been four other people who have made it out of the omega fights alive in the last five years. A stint in a fight club is violent, and usually brief. These are men and women who have been abducted or lured into the game by traffickers who book them in fights against alphas, or sometimes against omegas from other clubs. Again, once in these clubs, life expectancy is about six months, or less.” He paused involuntarily, thinking about the last time he’d been involved in a fight club recovery, finding an omega woman in a cellar who died shortly after the bust of an intracranial hemorrage. The alpha she was fighting had continued to bludgeon her even as the police raided the house. He shook the image off and continued. “While they are captive, every instinct they have is either subverted or capitalized upon-- They’re thrown into a ring with an alpha who would probably like nothing better than to kill them. They’re there to fight for their lives, until they lose and submit. Brutal isn’t even the word to describe these encounters.

“I went over all of this and more just days before this operation, hoping to instill some sympathy for the individuals we hoped to recover from that club.

“The man you _rescued_ last night has spent four months fighting. He’s survived _four months_ of these melees, and you nearly killed him.” Now he looked at Walker, who had the grace to look away. “A tranquilizer gun was brought to the operation despite the fact that guidelines stipulate non-aggressive methods of dealing with confused or antagonistic omegas. That’s the role of myself and my colleagues. Tranquilizer guns are obsolete and callous. So after this man had spent untold hours fighting homicidal alphas, he was shot with a potentially lethal concoction of drugs. We didn’t know if he was concussed, if he possibly had broken ribs that could puncture a lung. Yes, he hit the floor and stopped whatever behaviors he was exhibiting that unsettled you. Yes, he was no longer a non-compliant rogue omega. But he was never a threat to any of you in the first place. He went into shock while being transported to an omega shelter. He woke up during the night nauseated and vomiting, and has no memory of the operation or even of much of the evening.

“If putting his life in jeopardy means little to you, let me remind you that this man has potentially invaluable information about Alistair and the fight club, and much of his potential testimony about the events of last night might be irretrievable.

“I’m formally recommending that any remaining tranquilizer delivery systems be disposed of, and that this department be retrained on omega sensitivity and procedure.”

Captain Stengel stepped up, saying, “Thank you Dr. Novak for your analysis. It will be taken under serious consideration. Our investigation will continue and it goes without saying that we’re hoping for a full recovery of the FC so that we might recover even more evidence.”

Stengel moved on to examine more aspects of the operation, but Castiel tuned it out. He caught Rachael’s eye-- she was staring at him with a mix of admiration and horror. He’d just taken apart the force that she’d spent several minutes commending.

When the attendees were dismissed, Rachael cornered Castiel outside in the parking lot.

“What’s gotten into you? You should have discussed that with the captain first. Was that really appropriate for the initial?” she asked.

“Yes, it was appropriate. I couldn’t let weeks go by before anyone was held accountable for what went wrong last night. I understand that your first loyalty is to your department, but mine is to the omegas we’re supposed to protect.”

She nodded curtly. “Are you going to try to interview Winchester tomorrow, or should I?” she asked cannily.

Castiel hesitated. “I know you’ve done more than your fair share, but you’ll have to get his statement. I’m... I’m compromised.”

“Compromised?”

Castiel straightened up under her scrutiny. “I scentbonded with him. He’s my mate.”

Rachael’s lips were a straight line. She studied Castiel intently, disapprovingly. “I would tell you congratulations but I think you’re going to have your hands full with that one.”

He just nodded.

Castiel realized as Rachael walked away that he’d not stopped to speak to Captain Stengel as he’d planned, but he needed to go back to his office to write up a more formal report, and only had about three hours before he’d promised to return to Dean. As Rachael walked back into the precinct building, Castiel decided he was biting off enough for one day. He got in his car, rolled down the windows, and drove off.

 

 

The shower stall had no lip at the bottom, and Dean realized that if he didn’t shower fast he might flood the bathroom floor. He washed his hair again, even though he didn’t necessarily need to-- the all-purpose wash didn’t lather well and smelled like some kind of tropical fruit, but it did leave him feeling cleaner. Every time he thought he was done, though, the washcloth came away grey. He washed until he’d used more than half the bottle-- finally the ropes of old skin stopped peeling away, and he got the black crescents of dirt out from under his fingernails. He thought he’d need to break out his Lava soap once he got home to get rid of the grime of months of fighting and captivity.

He felt somewhat better, though.

After he dried off, he threw the second towel down to try to sop up some of the overflow, then picked up both and wrung them out in the sink. He folded them and laid them on the edge of the porcelain, since there was no curtain rod within reach.

Dean pulled on his jeans, which now smelled like detergent and scorched denim, and wore the same white tee he’d been given this morning. He combed his hair with the strange, skeletal brush from the kit, trying to get it to look reputable, but it was much too long.

He brushed his teeth, something he’d rarely been able to do before. He brushed twice, scrubbing until his gums bled, causing the foam to look pink against the porcelain basin when he spat it out.

He gathered up the damp towels, and set them on the desk to be disposed of in a moment. He was a little mortified that he’d not made his bed, and since the linens hadn’t been changed he stripped it and made it up from scratch. He folded the hospital pants and placed them on the tall shelf opposite his bed, and looked around the room for anything else to do.

He was suddenly exhausted, and wanted to lay down in his freshly folded bed, but instead he made a right and headed out the door to what they called the day room. Benny stood up from a chair outside the door and walked beside him.

“I thought for sure you’d want to take a nap,” Benny said conversationally.

Dean shook his head. “My brother is coming this evening and I don’t want to miss him,” he replied. He wasn’t sure if he could trust the staff here to wake him up for visiting hours.

“Well, it’s time you got a little fresh air, then. It’s outdoor period.”

The tech named Rob was sitting outside with the other patients and unlocked the door for them.

Dean stepped outside, into daylight, without anyone threatening him to hurry, or manhandling him into a van, or shoving him down stairs into a basement. He crossed the patio, where the sun still shone over the roof of the building, and leaned against the baking brick wall. He closed his eyes and listened to the quiet conversations of the people around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated for mention of suicide and suicide prevention.


	11. REUNION

Sam nearly passed St. Brigid’s. It was an unassuming brick building with a simple stair and slab entrance and a white awning. There was an intercom next to the door with a chipped, yellowing sign reading, “Please ring for admittance after hours.” He pulled the door open swiftly and made his way around a bank of chairs to what looked to be a reception desk.

It was a quarter after five.

He approached the reception desk and introduced himself.

“I’m Sam Winchester. I’m here to see Dean Winchester, I think he’s in the ment- the behavioral health ward?”

The receptionist, a preppy brunette with a perky smile, said, “Let me go get the list.”

Sam rolled his eyes and shuffled restlessly.

She came back with a clipboard which she scanned slowly.  
“Okay, you’re on his list. I can let you in in about fifteen minutes if you want to have a seat.”

Sam sat in one of the chairs, on the end nearest the desk. Another couple was there, a nervous beta woman and possibly her omega daughter, who was definitely on scent-blockers and wearing a copious amount of some kind of powdery perfume. Both looked tired and downcast.

He felt jittery. He took a second to try to center himself, to quell his own anxiousness. He’d showered, changed clothes, and deliberately worn scent blockers that he picked up at the motel’s front desk, thinking that for one going into a facility full of omegas reeking of alpha might be a bad idea, and secondly, not wanting his own uneasiness to worry Dean.

He checked his phone to pass the time-- he answered a new text from Jess that no, he hadn’t seen Dean just yet, read a few emails from his firm, and sent one off to his partner, letting her know that he would now be away for an open-ended amount of time. Likely five days if they held Dean for a full three, because a day and a half would be taken up with the drive back to Kansas. He didn’t think he’d be able to convince Dean to fly, even to get home. A roadtrip together would probably do them both good-- it would put a buffer between this place and regular life back in Lawrence.

At five thirty on the nose, the receptionist stepped out from behind the desk. “If you’re here to see someone in the BHC you can follow me,” she said, walking towards some double doors and using a keycard to swipe in.

Sam stood quickly, shaking out his hands by his sides. He stepped aside to let the women through first.

“Go right down the hall to the large open room on your right, about halfway down the hallway. Have a nice visit,” she said, waiting to make sure the doors closed securely behind them.

Sam was even more jittery, suddenly. He had been able to sense all the omegas here at the shelter. It was almost overwhelming. Having grown up with an omega brother, Sam was a little immune to the scent, but he’d never been in a place where it was so concentrated and mingled with fear and... something else... was there even a scent for despondency? That’s how the air in this place made him feel.

He walked down the corridor behind the two women, not intentionally lagging behind but dreading, in a sense what he might see. He kept getting hits of anxious omega from every door, and even a flash of anger from one in particular. The hallway opened up into a large sitting area with a television and two rows of chairs. He immediately spotted his brother, sitting tensely with his back to the wall, facing the corridor Sam was now exiting.

Sam balked at Dean’s appearance, He’d seen Dean after weekends fishing and after a few weeklong benders, but Dean definitely didn’t look partied out. He’d obviously been punched in the eye and the jaw, and had a couple of small cuts on his forehead and under his eye held closed with butterfly strips. Even beyond the bruises, his eyes sat in purple hollows, his hair was too long and he kept scrubbing his hands through it, clearly uncomfortable with the length. He had a couple weeks of beard but Sam could still tell that he’d lost weight, that his cheekbones and jaw were too sharp. He wore faded, stained jeans and a white tee shirt, and a pair of institutional-looking white canvas shoes.

For just a second, Sam and Dean both seemed frozen. Sam forced himself to break free first. Without a word he crossed the space between them in three easy strides and engulfed his brother in a hug. He wasn’t surprised at all that Dean hugged back, but the way Dean tucked his forehead against Sam’s shoulder caught him off guard.

Sam was surprised at how much Dean smelled like... Dean. He’d always used scent blockers and a little cologne when he was out, but his own smell permeated his apartment and the Impala. Sometimes, when it seemed like he’d really never see his brother again, Sam would go sit in the car, memorizing that scent, finally letting loose days worth of tears and anger. It was strange to connect that scent to his brother again. Dean’s scent was always bright, underlaid with the sweet smell of _omega_ that set him apart from other designations, but Sam was suddenly transported back to his childhood, when he was coming up behind his brother-- when his brother was the bronze hero of his teenaged mythology.

“So good to see you again,” Sam told him. His brother grunted and shifted, and Sam realized that his ribs must hurt, too.

Dean answered with a choked sob and held on tighter, though.

Sam was a little out of his depth. Dean had sometimes been Sam’s support, pushing him through tough times and taking care of him when their father wouldn’t. He wasn’t used to seeing his brother off-balance like this.

Dean let go after nearly a full minute and pulled away, not looking up at Sam, and led him out a set of glass doors to a little patio that was being guarded by a stocky man with an ID badge that said his name was Rob. Another large man followed them and stood near “Rob,” making small talk.

The clear air, or rather a whirling breeze that smelled of car exhaust instead of stale human, was refreshing. There were three square concrete tables and benches, and Dean went to the one furthest back. The other family, the two women from the waiting room and a small omega wearing a dirty pink hoodie, sat silently at another. Sam passed them without a glance, trying to give them as much privacy as he and Dean expected from them.

Dean sat, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Sorry about that,” he said with a breathy laugh.

“Dean,” Sam said simply, pleadingly. “I missed you so much.”

“How’s Jess?” Dean asked, deflecting.

“She’s good, she’s worried about you. I am too.”

Dean just looked at Sam, at a loss for words. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said finally.

Sam held out his hands. “You’re almost home,” he answered.

Dean looked away, eyes watery and downcast again. He cleared his throat. “Here’s the thing, though, I have to stay here for seventy-two hours. I got almost two days to go.”

“It’s _up to_ seventy two hours, Dean. They may let you go sooner.” Sam knew that the Kallinger Act could be a precursor to civil commitment, and that the three day hold was applicable after a patient was medically stable. He’d have to find out for sure when Dean had been deemed ‘medically stable,’ and he had absolutely no intention of letting this place extend that hold for any longer than three days. He had stacks of legislation and precedents in his briefcase in the back of the rental car. He was fully prepared to go to war for Dean. The best thing for him would be going home to Lawrence and getting further help there.

His brother shook his head. “Doubtful. They way I acted before has them spooked.”

Sam peered at Dean, who still wasn’t meeting his gaze. “What do you mean?” he asked softly.

“Just... This morning was rough. I didn’t even know what planet I was on for a while.”

“You doing okay now?”

Dean nodded, cleared his throat again. “I’m good. I’m better now that you’re here.” He seemed surprised to have said that. Sam understood that the admission was a sign of how not good Dean actually was.

“So, can I ask? What happened to you back in March? I saw the surveillance tapes from the parking lot. You just walked around the side of the building and never came out. Whoever it was knew how to get around Kansas City without hitting many of the traffic cams.”

Dean sighed and scrubbed his face. Sam caught a strong note of anxiety from Dean and was immediately sorry he’d asked. He wasn’t used to being able to read his big brother so easily.

“I was stupid. I heard yelling, heard someone being hit. Thought there was a mugging going down. Walked over to see for sure before getting out my phone. They jumped me. Whole thing was a set-up just to get me for-- just to get me.” He stopped, and seemed like he was going to say more but after a beat he just shook his head.

Sam couldn’t prompt for more. He saw that Dean wasn’t ready to tell the rest of the story.

Suddenly, Dean’s entire demeanor changed, and Sam caught a wave of happiness uncoiling from his brother, as though he’d been physically switched with a completely different person.

He looked over his shoulder and saw a dark-haired man wearing a rumpled white oxford and a loose blue tie approaching them.

Dean stood up, and the two actually hugged. The man was wearing scent blockers, but the way he carried himself was all alpha. Sam was a little flabbergasted.

“Sam, this is Cas-- uh Dr. Castiel Novak. Cas, this is my brother Sam.”

“Oh, do you work here?” asked Sam, shaking the man’s outstretched hand.

“No, the ‘doctor’ is a PhD, not an MD. I don’t work here, but I do consult. I...” the newcomer paused and looked at Dean, seemingly puzzled. “Well, I work for an organization that helps vulnerable omegas find services, shelters, safe houses, jobs. And I serve on an anti-trafficking task force with the local police and we liase occasionally with the FBI. We busted the traffickers holding Dean and several others.”

To Sam, Dean added, “This is the guy who, uh... who pulled me out.”

Sam didn’t know what to say, what else to ask, so he just said, “Thank you, for finding Dean.”

Dean looked away, hand on the back of his neck. Sam knew that under other circumstances, Dean had no problem being the center of attention. Here he seemed abashed and uncomfortable.

Something was up between Dean and this Dr. Novak. The newcomer sat in the seat across from Sam, perpendicular to Dean, and it seemed like he’d sat down closer to Dean than was expected. Their knees had to be hitting under the table. They kept glancing at one another. Then Sam caught a hint-- just a hint-- of arousal from Dean. Just the smallest whisper.

Sam and Dean talked then about the shelter, about how Dean was being treated, and how he surprisingly had no complaints. He seemed embarrassed, actually, over some situation he’d gotten into earlier that day, and again Sam didn’t press him. Castiel interjected occasionally with questions, also, but was remarkably silent. Before he knew it, the family behind him broke up, and one of the big fellows by the door announced that visiting hours were over.

“I’ll see you tomorrow sometime. I promise, you won’t be here a minute over seventy-two hours. Call me if you need anything. Even just an ear to listen, okay?” Sam said, hugging Dean as tightly as he dared.

Dean returned the embrace, patting Sam’s back bracingly. “I will.”

“I’ll be with him a while longer,” said Novak reassuringly.

Sam left reluctantly, waving to Dean, who was sitting again with Castiel at the corner of the small table. Their proximity was almost intimate.

He thought about Dean’s behavior as he walked back to the public parking structure where he’d left the rental. He and Jess had been a case of love at first sight but it had taken months to form a mating bond, which was still unusually fast since she was a beta. Sam had fallen first.

Was Novak the reason Dean wasn’t foaming at the mouth to get out of St. Brigid’s? Sam had attributed his tired resignation to something akin to despair, he’d thought maybe the fight had actually been taken out of Dean by his experience. And he felt that the two men were more than just acquaintances at this point. He wondered... He wondered if Dean didn’t want to leave the man’s side, even if he didn’t quite realize it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! Thanks for reading! Love you all :)


	12. MEMORY

“I know I just said I was going to stay with you, and I fully intend to abuse my privilege and remain here as long as I can,” Cas said to Dean after Sam had left, “but I need to talk to the director before he leaves for the day.”

Dean nodded, bumping his knee into Cas’. “Go on. I’ll be here somewhere.” He smiled ruefully.

Cas tried not to dwell on the fact that Dean had said nothing else to Sam about Cas’ significance to him. He himself was about to talk to Dr. Shurley, the director of St. Brigid’s. He’d told Rachael. Everyone who had been in the hallway, staff as well as patients, had seen the scent mating earlier today. He might as well rent out a blimp and broadcast his new status to the whole city. Yet Dean hadn’t mentioned that Castiel was his mate when he introduced him to his brother.

The shelter housed couples and families on a night-by-night basis, but not in C wing of course. He doubted he’d be allowed to stay all night with Dean, and was starting to wonder if Dean would even want him to. Perhaps the effects of the drugs and the blackout was causing Dean to feel the effects of the bonding differently than Castiel was. He remembered the way Dean had fought to reach him, had marked himself with Cas’ scent right away. Dean had even kissed him first. But... he’d said nothing about it to Sam. Castiel was left a little off kilter.

He bent down and kissed Dean as discreetly as possible, but Dean returned the kiss hungrily, heedless of who saw them.

Castiel left reluctantly, using the broken keycard that Naomi had retrieved for him. He felt as though so much time had passed, when in reality he’d only reunited with Dean a few hours ago.

He knocked on Chuck Shurley’s door, which was simply marked ‘Director,’ and it opened just a hair.

“Hello?” the director said timorously. “Oh, Castiel, it’s you. I wondered when you were going to stop by,” Chuck said, opening the door enough for Cas to enter.

Dr. Shurley was a harried looking beta, who gave the impression sometimes of barely controlled disorganization, like he was going to shake apart at any moment. There was no doubt about his dedication to St. Brigid’s however, as he was usually the last of the administrative staff to leave, and then only after making a round of the entire shelter, asking questions and addressing concerns-- which usually resulted in one last return to his desk to take care of just one more thing.

“What’s going on, Castiel? What’s up in your world today?”

Castiel swallowed. “Chuck, I met my truemate this afternoon.”

“I heard,” Chuck said, melodramatic astonishment in his voice. “Dean Winchester. That was a surprise, I bet.”

“That’s an understatement. I realized this morning that we were bonding, and I stayed away from him. It was misguided-- I’d assumed he wouldn’t remember our encounter last night. Now I’m worried about him, about not being able to spend an appropriate amount of time with him.”

“Trust me, I’m concerned too. He’s having a very strange day. Naomi said he’s been doing worlds better since you two met this afternoon, though,” added Chuck.

Cas took a second to process that. He’d not been able to stop and think about it, but their meeting had had a grounding effect on both of them.

“I know there’s no precedent for this, but I’d like to stay with him as much as I can. I know the C wing rules, Chuck--”

“Oh you’re so right,” Chuck interrupted, holding up both hands, “there is no precedent for a situation like this. I know that normally a truemate couple would be screwing each other brainless by now, and I admire your, ah, _prudence_ , I really do. And I don’t want separation from you to be yet another stressor for Dean. I haven’t seen him yet-- I’d like to before I leave-- but my thoughts right now are that you can stay this evening until lights out. You can come by tomorrow outside of visiting hours as long as you don’t interfere with the wing’s schedule. You both deserve time to bond. So let him go to process group if he wants to, don’t interrupt his sessions with Naomi and his caseworker, and be as respectful of the other patients in that ward as possible. Keep PDA to a minimum, and no barricading yourselves into a room somewhere.”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

Chuck nodded, mollified. “Naomi... Hmm, Naomi isn’t pleased at this turn of events, so don’t expect her to be gracious. I think she’d hoped for a case study, but she can’t publish anything about Dean’s time here, now, not with you involved as you are.”

“I figured as much,” answered Castiel. “You know she admitted him under Kallinger, of all things?”

“I do,” said Chuck neutrally, “and I signed off on it, Castiel. He was one of two that we Kallingered this morning. There’s a woman who’s doing a helluva lot worse than Dean, and I thought we should keep an eye on both of them. It is a three day hold, min. But it’s three days that, in the long run, could literally be the difference between life and death. And you sent him here for a reason, even if you didn’t realize it. Come on, we’ve both seen people leave everything we give them and go right back into prostitution once they’re out of this shelter.” Castiel shifted, wanting to interrupt. Chuck held up a placating hand. “I’m not saying that Dean will run back to that fight club, I’m not stupid. But we don’t know that someone isn’t still looking for Dean. He’s safe here, while your task force has time to try to dig the rest of that ring out by the roots. Get it? We’re used to keeping people safe. He needs to understand that while we’re requiring him to stay here until we’re sure he’s not a danger to himself or anyone else, he is _able_ to stay here until we know it’s okay for him to leave.”

Castiel nodded, acquiescing. His gut reaction to the use of the Kallinger Act had made it difficult to see any further logic behind leaving Dean here. He felt more than a little scrambled by the truemating, too. The bond was constantly simmering in the back of his mind, and imperatives like _protect your mate_ and _claim him_ would bubble to the surface from time to time. He felt like he could do neither while Dean was at St. Brigid’s, but he understood what Chuck was trying to tell him. He wondered if Dean would agree, though.

“I’m going to C wing right now,” said Chuck, “unless you have anything else you’d like to discuss?”

“I’ll walk with you,” said Castiel in answer to his question.

 

 

Dean looked over at Benny, who was still sitting placidly by the door.

“Can I just stay out here for a while?” he asked. He was still having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that while he was in a controlled environment, the staff here seemed to have little inclination to control him.

“For a bit longer, sure. I think Rob is going to put a movie on the big screen in there if you want to watch, though.”

“No, thanks. I just want to be out here as long as I can,” Dean replied quietly.

“I follow you, brother,” Benny said, turning his attention into the dayroom where Rob was scowling at some kind of menu on the television.

“You need to go give him a hand?” Dean asked. “I mean, really, what can I do out here?”

“He’ll be fine,” Benny answered, and Dean was a little humbled by the man’s dedication. Even if it was his job.

Dean just sat a while at the concrete table, watching the amber evening sky deepen into a warm purple twilight. He was tired. He wanted to go back to his room and sleep, but worried that he would either miss Cas, or wouldn’t be sleepy later. He’d not had a restful night’s sleep since he’d been abducted, and although he longed for a whole night of oblivion, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get it here. The scent of omega clung to everything, even the brick walls of the patio. Inside it was worse. And he didn’t _want_ to find the presence of other omegas comforting. He had nothing in common with the people inside, people who were down on their luck, or outright downtrodden, and in most cases obviously messed up mentally. He was tired, but restless at the same time. He wished Cas would hurry back.

Castiel. He could still smell Cas if he turned his head slowly, if he picked up the front of his tee shirt and brought it to his face. The scent helped calm him, and that was really fucking weird.

Truemates were bullshit. But now he was in a strange headspace because, off all things, he’d found his. No, his truemate had found him. In a warehouse by the waterfront, in a city where he probably would have died in another week or two. He thrilled a little inside. Cas had found him, had made sure he’d been taken someplace safe, even if it was the loony bin. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against his intertwined knuckles, trying to remember. All he had was a quick scene from yesterday afternoon,- just yesterday?-- of his last meal with Tina and the others. He remembered a flash of the fight, of getting socked in the jaw by a thick alpha that reminded him of an English bulldog. Then someone he couldn’t quite see saying, “You’re safe, I’ve got you.” That had been Cas. That was _Cas._

He scented him, just then, as Cas himself entered the little enclosed garden, and the scene blossomed in his memory. Hands on his shoulders as he grew heavier and heavier, a sharp face and dark hair barely in focus, a rough voice, and he saw Castiel in his mind’s eye for just a split second, rescuing him. It might be all the memory he ever recovered.

He opened his eyes, blinking away tears, and Castiel rushed forward, concern written on his every movement.

“I’m so sorry I left-- are you okay? What happened? What’s wrong?” Castiel asked frantically.

“Nothing,” Dean sniffed, standing up, “I was just trying to remember last night.”

Castiel pulled him into his embrace. Dean was disoriented. He’d experienced strong attraction, at parties, in bars, hell, in passing on a hot sidewalk sometimes. But the bone-deep craving to wrap himself around this man was profoundly different than attraction. He’d never felt anything like this with anyone else he’d ever slept with, not even with Lisa-- which was one of the many reasons they had never worked out. He should resent it, he should be angry that his entire brain had been suddenly coopted by his biology. He should be angry that his biology had chosen an alpha to clasp onto. He wasn’t. He settled into Cas’ arms, equal parts confused, mystified, and quieted.

Cas rubbed one hand up and down Dean’s spine, holding him gently, mindful of his bruised ribs, but at the same time closely, chest to chest and hip to hip. Dean took a deep breath, filling himself up with Cas’ scent. Riverbank and leather. Something mellow but slightly musky that was just Cas, his alpha scent.

Cas was mouthing up and down the left side of Dean’s neck, from his ear to his collar, grazing his throat with a stubbled chin before pressing a guarded kiss to the top of Dean’s shoulder. Dean gasped. _Right there_ , his body screamed, _claim me right there._

He pulled away just enough to get his face angled towards Castiel’s, then leaned back in for a kiss, when the sound of someone clearing their throat caused them both to pull away unwillingly.

“Dean,” said Castiel, gesturing to a nervous-looking man standing behind him, “this is Dr. Shurley, he’s the director of St. Brigid’s.”

“Good to meet you,” Dr. Shurley said, stretching to hold out a hand in greeting.

Dean was aware of the heavy scent of his and Cas’ arousal filling the tiny courtyard, and shook the director’s hand awkwardly.

“Please, sit for a moment,” Dr. Shurley said, indicating the table next to them. “I just want to see how you’re doing here. You had a shitty morning, huh?”

Dean nodded, uncertain how to respond, situating himself on the same bench as Cas, putting his mate between him and the doctor. “I wasn’t myself. I didn’t know where I was. I guess I made an ass of myself,” he said, glancing over Dr. Shurley’s shoulder toward Benny, whose attention was on the television inside.

Shurley held up a hand, eyes closed, and said, “Perfectly understandable, and believe me we’ve dealt with worse. But, how do you think you’re doing now?” he asked, watery eyes catching Dean’s and searching them kindly.

“I’m... better. I don’t think I should be here,” he said gesturing to the dayroom beyond the bank of windows next to him.

Castiel discreetly placed his hand on Dean’s leg.

“I have to disagree,” Dr. Shurley said. “You’ve been held captive for thirteen weeks. We’ve had countless omegas in situations similar to yours come through our doors, and you need at least a couple of days to get your head screwed back on.”

“I don’t,” Dean said, tensing up. “And no one has come through here from a situation ‘similar’ to mine.”

“You don’t think the other men and women who ended up here last night have anything to do with you?” Dr. Shurley asked challengingly. For all that he came across at first as a schmuck, this Shurley guy was turning out to be intense.

Dean shrugged. Dr. Shurley waited for a response. “I guess, but as far as I know I’m the only one whose been locked up in the mental ward.”

“You’d been drugged. You’ve been abused. We didn’t know what to expect. And neither do you.”

“I’m fine now. Why are you keeping me here?”

“Are you fine, Dean? What about that episode you had when Castiel’s partner tried to interview you? And your actions this morning? Are you sure that was the effects of the tranquilizers?”

Dean didn’t know what to say. Cas’ hand had gone around his waist, and Dean was aware that he was watching him as closely as Dr. Shurley was. He wasn’t going to win this fight, and he sagged a little against Cas. “No, I’m not sure it was the drugs.” The admission stung.

“Let’s see how tonight goes. We can let you out before the seventy-two hours have passed, but not until you have these panic attacks under control.”

“They weren’t--” Dean bit off the rest of the sentence, reminding himself that arguing over terminology was not going to win him any brownie points. “Fine,” he said gruffly, and Cas’ arm tightened in support and approval.

He thought detachedly that it was strange how well they could already read each other.

“Okay, then,” Dr. Shurley said, nodding. “Get some rest. I’ve already told Castiel that he can stay until lights out, and can come back in the morning. Benny will be your one-on-one until shift change, and you’ll have someone else staying with you through the night, just in case you need some reinforcements. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, standing. As he left, he stopped to talk to Benny.

Dean turned to Cas. “When is lights out?”

“In about half and hour.”

He leaned in and finished the interrupted kiss, frustration and stimulation crawling together under his skin.

 


	13. TIME ALONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Applicable tags/warnings discussed in the endnote.

Sam keyed into his motel room, balancing a takeout bag and a sweaty soda in one arm and his briefcase on the other shoulder. He dumped the bag and cup on the wobbly table and pulled his laptop out of his case. He opened it and immediately clicked Skype open.

It took a while for Jess to answer.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said, settling in front of the camera, flipping her hair off of her shoulders. She was already dressed for bed. The image froze momentarily as the stringy motel wifi strained to keep up.

Sam’s eyes widened and he felt tenseness in his groin at the stuttering shot of his mate in a tight pajama shirt. “Are you going to sleep already?”

Jess laughed. “No, I just wanted to get comfortable,” she said, then sat up straight and asked, “Did you get to see Dean?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I did.”

“How is he?”

“He... Jess, he looked awful. I can’t even describe it. He’s thin and ragged and he was beat all to hell. And there was this look in his eye that I caught every now and then.”

“The thousand yard stare?”

“Something like that. Or, more like... guilt? Like maybe he’s having a hard time facing what’s happened? I don’t know. He didn’t talk about it, and I’m not going to push him yet.”

Jess was quiet.

Sam continued, “I don’t know. I think he’s okay for now. The place he’s at is an omega shelter but it also has a mental health unit. They put him in there, I guess because no one knew what to expect from him. Literally no one knows what people are put through to get them to participate in these fights, I’ve read that only about five people have been rescued alive in, like, decades. And only two of those...” He couldn’t continue.

“Sam, I’m glad you’re there for him.”

He nodded, the screen in front of him blurring as his eyes washed with unshed tears. “Yeah, me too.” He took a few seconds, waiting for his throat to open up again. “So get this,” Sam said, leaning into the camera, “there’s something up between him and this other guy there.”

Jess looked shocked. “Already? That’s fast, even for Dean.”

“No, I mean, one of the guys from the raid or bust or whatever it was, one of the guys who found him. You should have seen how Dean lit up when the dude got there.”

Jess scowled at Sam. “He was probably happy to see him because the guy rescued him.”

“No, this was different.” He thought back to how Dean had reacted at Castiel’s appearance. “He’d scented the man before he’d even come through the door.”

Jess just blinked. Then she smiled tentatively. “You mean like a mate?”

“Maybe, yeah. I mean, I know my brother, and he’s never acted like that before. Even when he was dating Lisa, he never just came alive when he saw her. And he and Lisa were pretty serious.”

“But... after everything he’s been through?” Jess asked, tilting her head.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, maybe especially after everything he’s been through. I just hope... I mean, the guy is some kind of omega-saving badass, even though to hear him tell it he’s more like a public servant. But he lives here. ”

“Do you think Dean will stay with him?”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. I think... I think he won’t, Jess. I think he’ll come back to Lawrence.”

Jess shook her head. “He can’t. If that man is his mate, he just _can’t._ ”

“If I know Dean, though, he’s just that stubborn.”

“Breaking a mating bond is traumatic, Sam.”

“I know.” He thought about how he would feel if he and Jess were ever separated for more than a week or two. He could just imagine how Dean would cope with leaving a mate. The scenario involved a lapse in personal hygiene and copious amounts of Jack. And probably bar fights.

On a never ending loop.

“It would wreck him.”

They were silent for a couple of minutes. “They’ll work it out,” Jess said hopefully. “You know, natural disasters and even wars can’t even keep truemates from breaking their bond if they don’t want to.”

Sam shrugged. “I guess.”

“So what are you doing now?” Jess asked, changing tack.

“I think I’m going to eat and then I’m going to shower. I feel disgusting from all the airplanes.” Not to mention the smell of the shelter seemed to have followed him home. He worried about Dean alone there tonight.

“Well, be sure to call me later,” Jess said.

“Oh, I will,” Sam said, shifting in his seat. That shirt. He hoped the weedy connection would stand up to their video chat that night.

 

 

Dean and Cas spent the last half-hour they had together outside in the courtyard. Cas hadn’t meant to throw out Chuck’s entreaty to watch the public displays so quickly, but Dean’s propinquity was causing his better judgment to short circuit.

“I have to go soon,” murmured Cas into Dean’s neck, sucking a mark onto the skin at the swell of Dean’s shoulder, the place that made him tense up and hold his breath. Dean moaned and shifted even closer to Cas.

Castiel knew what that reaction meant. That was the nexus of flesh and nerve that would be the best point for a mating bite. He let out a shaky breath.

“Will you be okay alone?” he asked Dean.

“Do I have a choice?”

Cas sighed and pulled back. “I left you my number at the dayroom desk. If anything comes up, please call me, or Sam?”

Dean nodded, pecking Cas on the lips, eyes closed.

“Dean,” Cas said seriously. “Anything.”

“I will, I promise.”

“I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I’ll be here,” Dean said acerbically.

Cas ran his hands up Dean’s shoulders, up his neck. He cupped the back of Dean’s head gently. He pulled Dean’s forehead down to rest on his own. “Don’t be like that,” he said softly.

Dean took a deep breath and sighed, eyes closed again. He shook his head but didn’t speak. There was so much running through his head that he was afraid to say because it might hurt Castiel if he spoke it all aloud. He needed to go home with Cas, to feel his alpha hold him close and fill him as they fucked themselves to the point of exhaustion, then pass out into a boneless, dreamless sleep in his bed that smelled like river reeds and alpha.

He wasn’t sure he could face the night alone. And there was nothing either of them could do about it.

Castiel scented Dean’s uneasiness, and cupped his face in his hands. “You’re going to be fine. You won’t be alone.”

Dean choked up at Cas’ perspicacity, eyes burning and throat tight. “I need you.”

“You have me... just not right now,” Cas said, his voice low.

They heard Benny shift. “I hate to break you two up, but it’s just about curfew,” he said.

Dean kissed Cas again, holding back both his aching need and his stinging tears.

“See you in the morning.”

“We have a lot to talk about,” said Cas.

Dean pulled away and stood up.

“How about we walk you out?” Benny suggested.

The staff were turning down the bright fluorescent hallway lights and had shut off the television.

Dean and Cas walked hip to hip down the corridor to the double doors that led out of C wing, Benny trailing well behind. At the door, Cas took out his broken keycard and swiped it. The buzz was loud in the dim hallway.

Cas pulled Dean close, and Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ neck, marking himself with Cas’ scent. Cas pushed his own nose into Dean’s collarbone, inhaling the smell of oranges and vanilla and honey. Dean was still distressed, and Cas honestly wasn’t sure how he was going to leave his omega.

In the end it was Dean who pushed him away. “Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night,” Castiel rasped back. He slipped out the door, looking through it as it swung closed.

 

 

Shift change coincided with lights out. Benny walked Dean back towards the dayroom.

“If you can’t sleep, you know, if you can’t get the pictures on the back of your eyelids to stop playing, go see Hael, okay? She’s the night nurse, she’ll take care of you, a’right?”

“I will,” Dean said.

“This is Uriel, he’s your one-on-one tonight,” Benny said, introducing Dean to a large, hazardous looking man in a white polo. His ID was on a thick lanyard around his neck. He reminded Dean of his wrestling coach. Alpha roiled off of him, and Dean cringed. He couldn’t deal with another alpha, and he didn’t like being handed off like a football. And Uriel made him uneasy in the same way that Benny had when they first met. He walked with his shoulders back, he put a little bit of a swagger in his walk, and he frowned like Dean was already giving him shit.

Benny left quickly, his shift with Dean over, shaking his hand and promising to see him in the morning.

The window by the desk rolled up, and a dark-haired nurse began dispensing medication. The way some of the patients took the paper cups, gratefully and eagerly, Dean guessed they were sleep aids. He wouldn’t be opposed to an Ambien, himself, but Anna had only mentioned the anti-anxiety pills.

Some of the other patients weren’t eager to go to bed, though, and were still sitting in front of the darkened television.

“Alright now,” Uriel said in a deep, booming voice, “you guys get going. You too, Winchester. It’s lights out. Get to your rooms.”

Reluctantly, the small crowd began straggling down the hallways to their beds.

Uriel’s bass roar caused Dean to hit the deck. All he could process was _alpha, alpha, alpha-- alpha is giving a command_.  He didn’t even register what the command was.

“Whoa, there, Winchester. What’s your deal?”

“Panic attacks,” he heard the dark-haired nurse say in a clipped tone, as she closed the window and came out from around the desk. “Back up, Anna thinks he’s reacting to designations.”

“Boy’s got a problem with alphas?”

Dean heard the conversation like a drowning man might notice fish in the water. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t stand upright. His chest hurt and he backed away from Uriel desperately, needing to get as much space between them as possible. He skittled up against the desk and froze in an animalistic crouch.

Suddenly the nurse was kneeling next to him, urging him to breathe deeply. The new alpha stayed where he was at. Dean tried to take a large breath, but his chest seized up. He was going to pass out. No, he wouldn’t just pass out-- if he didn’t get air in his lungs he was going to die.

“Dean, you’re having a panic attack,” the nurse said reasonably. “You need to try to take as deep a breath as you can manage.”

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t tell her that he was suffocating. He tried to suck in more air, but could only manage to pant through the pain in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears, and he felt it stutter in its rhythm. His vision was darkening. This was it.

“Dean, breathe out. I want you to breathe out for me, hard as you can,” the nurse was urging him.

He tried. It made no sense, because he thought his lungs were about to collapse from lack of oxygen. He forced his breath out and was immediately able to take in a chestful of air.

The omega nurse in front of him seemed utterly calm-- she smelled reassuring and mellow.

“Hold that for just a second, Dean,” she said. “Good job. Now let it out slowly, there you go.”

The dim lights in the dayroom brightened incrementally. He looked at the hulking shape of Uriel, standing several paces away. He tightened up again.

“Don’t worry about him right now. Just breathe in, hold it, let it go. You’re doing great. Stand up, breathe again.”

She stood with him for several moments, holding his hands and coaxing him out of his labored breathing. She led him behind the desk and stationed him outside the door. “I want you to stay right here,” she told him as she keyed into the pharmacy beyond. “I’m going to be right back,” she said, looking him in the eye.

He waited by the doorframe, concentrating on his breath. In, hold it, out. In, hold it. out.

The nurse came back wearing blue gloves and holding two little paper cups, one with a small white pill and another full of water.

“This is your Ativan. It’s going to help clear up that anxiety so you can relax.”

He took the paper cup hesitantly. He remembered something Benny had said to him before. _There’s no good reason for you to be feeling this way right now._

“Will this make me, you know, feel weird?” he asked, thinking back to his earlier disorientation.  
The nurse shook her head. “It’s only for anxiety, it shouldn’t make you loopy,” she said with a tight smile.

He couldn’t just push through this. These episodes hit him from out of nowhere, so he couldn’t keep his feet underneath him when they happened because he didn’t even know what was coming. He was embarrassed, too, that people here kept having to talk him down from whatever this was.

 _Whatever. What the hell_ , he thought, taking both cups. He put threw back the pill like a shot of tequila and chased it with the water.

“How long does it take?” he croaked.

“It’s pretty fast,” the nurse answered, taking the empty cups from him.

He glanced at Uriel, who was watching him impassively. Other residents were gawking down the hallways, some hanging out of their rooms, alerted by the strong scent of distressed omega coming from Dean. Another staff member with a lanyard around his neck, a young man with unruly blonde hair, watched him tensely.

He nodded to them, holding up a hand. He didn’t know what to say. He came slowly out from behind the desk.

Millie was standing next to him, suddenly-- she took his hand and held it between her own. “You’re going to be okay, honey. You’re going to be just fine.”

As she said this, the other patients resumed their tired shuffle toward their rooms. He let the old lady hold his hand, let her walk him down the hallway.

He walked close to her, taking the comfort she was offering, realizing that it was as soothing for her as it was for him. It was an ebb and flow of companionship.

It was _omega._

As they passed the little alcove with the phone, he thought about calling Cas or Sam. But what would he say? I just had the strangest thing happen to me but I’m okay now? It seemed pointless. He kept walking.

Miss Millie left him at the door to his room, and he winced again as Uriel followed in behind him.

“You good, Winchester?” he asked.

Dean just shrugged, grabbing the pale blue pants he’d folded and placed on the empty bookcase and headed to the bathroom.

He changed quickly, and even in the dingy mirror he could see the mark that Castiel had left against the crook of his shoulder. He touched it, feeling a flutter roll down his chest. Some distant, primitive part of his brain wanted Cas to bite him there. He tried to shove the thought out of his mind.

His roommate was already passed out in the room beyond, sawing logs, so Dean jumped when the toilet roared to life. When he came out, the guy was still snoring away, to his relief. He folded his jeans and placed them along with his shoes on a shelf. Uriel was stationed by the door, but unlike Benny he sat out in the hallway.

“I’m going to be out here by your door, all night,” Uriel said, and Dean actually didn’t feel unnerved at that. “You tell me if you need anything.”

Dean lay down in bed, curling in on himself.

The anxiety he’d been feeling began to flatten out and spread thin, like ice melting on a tabletop. He felt his shoulders give way and relax, and the grip of panic still lurking in his gut slowly dissipated. He was still aware of the alpha hulking outside in the hallway, but his presence didn’t bother him as much as it had earlier.

He felt... normal. He just felt... like Dean. He didn’t feel disembodied, or blissed out, or high. He just felt like himself. That was usually not the mental state he was trying to achieve when he used a pharmaceutical, but he’d take it-- because being himself was better than turning into the whimpering, panting mess he’d been earlier.

He thought about Cas for a while, and at first that helped ground him even more. The way he tilted his head when he was listening to Dean or Sam. The earthy, musky alpha smell that ran under that deep scent of river and old leather.

He’d bonded to an alpha. It was unbelievable. Dean had spent his entire life avoiding alphas, unwilling to be accidentally claimed during sex or jumped in a parking lot somewhere. During his captivity, he’d been surrounded by alphas who made him submit to them night after night. And here he was, truemates with a hair-raisingly powerful one. In a way, Dean was comforted. There was someone out there willing to protect him from anything, now. Because he had already failed himself, spectacularly, had let himself be caught by a fight club-- and the consequences had been nightmarish.

But Dean had an alpha now.

What did that mean? How were they going to stay together, when Dean’s home was in Lawrence? There was no way he could expect Castiel to drop his life here and run off with him to live in Kansas, just that quickly.

Because there was no question that Dean was not staying here. He was going home as soon as he could.

He missed his apartment, his garage, his car, his life. A life that he’d not expected to ever get to return to.

Sam had dropped everything to get to him. He’d called off work, meetings, whatever it was that kept Sam busy at his firm. He’d probably delayed lawsuits, depositions, other people’s lives to come to his brother.

But Cas. Cas seemed to always have things to do. People to talk to. Where had he been that entire morning? What had been more important than finding his truemate?

But these thoughts began to spiral tighter and tighter until they drained away to leave a clear understanding that Dean would see Cas in the morning and they could hash this and more out together. The drug was leaving Dean sleepy and hollowed-out.

He let his mind clear, and appreciated the loose feeling that was just being. Dean stopped trying to recall Cas’ scent and focused on the sweet, syrupy atmosphere of omega that surrounded him. He could still detect a ping from the alpha outside his room from time to time, but he reminded himself that most of the people in the wing-- in the entire building-- were omega, like him. Even though they were all hiding here, running from some danger or another, tonight they were safe and he wasn’t alone.

And he did have Cas. Just not right now.

 

 

Cas got back to his apartment, not believing all that had happened just since that morning, since he’d slammed that glass of murky orange juice and rushed to St. Brigid’s.

He wanted Dean.

He wanted Dean so badly that he thought he could cry. He told himself that it was just the exhaustion of an impossible day wearing holes in his composure.

But it wasn’t. He needed Dean. Needed Dean like he needed the atmosphere. Without Dean, there was only desolation.

He made himself a cold sandwich, since he hadn’t eaten anything since that morning’s congealed oatmeal, and put on the television for background noise. He didn’t even taste the food, just chewed mechanically, washing down each bite with tap water.

He didn’t shower. He didn’t even take off his shirt, just undid the buttons at the neck and the cuffs-- he needed to keep himself wrapped in Dean’s scent.

When he lay down in his hastily made bed, he found himself curling up under the blankets, and was suddenly racked with sobs. His omega, _his omega_ , was all alone in a strange bed and being guarded by some other alpha. Castiel wasn’t even allowed to watch over Dean himself. He couldn’t mate his omega, hadn’t been able to mark him except for a bruise he’d sucked up in desperation. Some of that might not be what Dean wanted-- in fact, he seriously doubted that Dean wanted a mating bite, for all that he gasped and bucked under the kisses Cas had planted on his shoulder-- but it hurt that Cas couldn’t be with Dean at all.

He was breathless under he heel of this desperate need. He sucked in lungfuls of air and tried not to keen aloud.

It wasn’t fair, either, that Dean had been subjected to the torture he’d been forced to endure. Cas could tell that Dean was tough. That was why he’d been targeted in the first place.

But he’d seen Dean with his little brother, had seen him try to be strong in a different way, to protect his family from the horrors he’d been through. He knew that what Dean was throwing up was just a facade, that underneath was a heart that was hurting.

He wondered if maybe he was building Dean up in his imagination to be something he wasn’t. But he didn’t think so. He just knew. Whatever had happened in that chemical cascade that occurred when Cas held a nearly unconscious Dean in his arms was otherworldly. He knew he wasn’t wrong.

He’d told Dean that they had much to talk about in the morning, And the potential discussion felt overwhelming. It was monumental. How could they stay together? And a tiny thought sparked in the back of his mind, _should_ they even stay together? They hadn’t mated, there was still a chance they could sever the bond, even though the idea horrified him.

He had tried to tell himself that it was all hormones, just chemicals washing through their brains, and what had been so swiftly made could probably be just as quickly undone.

But that’s not what it felt like. Being near Dean, he felt like he’d never ever taken a full breath before and could suddenly fill his lungs. Like he’d never tasted water until going out in the rain, or that he only knew there was a sun by the shadows that surrounded him but had finally stepped out into the light.

After almost an hour, the long day and the trials of the night before finally caught up with Castiel, and he fell into a fitful sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic description of a panic attack.


	14. BREAKTHROUGH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the psychological kind...

Dean woke up rapidly from an intense dream, dick hard and breath coming fast.

He’d slept most of the night deeply and darkly, remembering his dreams only distantly. He had a feeling he’d had nightmares, but had been too tired to rouse from them, and they’d spooled away one after another as he slept.

But one thought became clear as he surfaced. He’d woken up from a dream about Cas, and his pajama bottoms were soaked with slick.

Cas had been naked on top of him, thrusting into him, looking directly into Dean’s eyes, and despite him being an alpha, Dean was able to look straight back. That had been possibly hotter than the fantasy sex.

Uriel still lurked in the corridor outside his room, and Dean cringed. He was surely scenting his arousal-- Dean was probably broadcasting it to the entire wing.

It was barely light outside as he shuffled into the bathroom. He showered quickly, rinsing away the slick that coated his crack, and trying to erase the smell of it. He was still a little hard, but the idea of trying to get off in the shared bathroom doused that fire thoroughly.

Dean was still uncomfortable with his own omega scent, too. But it was probably futile to hope to disguise it with just the weak, tropical-smelling bodywash-- if anything the sweet, fruity concoction probably enhanced it. He changed back into his jeans and the shirt he’d been given yesterday. It was worn and wrinkled and felt a little sticky, and probably reeked from his dream that morning. He balled up the pants tightly with the wet cloth in the middle.

He paused outside his room next to Uriel.

“Good morning, sunshine,” the man drawled dourly.

Dean got straight to the point. “Can I get another shirt? And can I wash these?”

Uriel rose wordlessly and gestured for Dean to follow him. He went to the storage closet and pulled another white tee shirt out of a stack. Then he ambled over to the laundry room and opened it, again without saying anything.

Dean found that the washer was already full of someone else’s clothes, and he put them in the dryer awkwardly. He found some Tide pods on the shelf above the washer, changed his shirt quickly, and put his clothes in on hot. The pants had obviously been well laundered and had weathered over time, so he doubted he would shrink them.

“You can wait in the dayroom until breakfast,” Uriel grunted. “Activity room won’t be unlocked until later.” He was less personable than Benny, but for all his bluntness he didn’t seem to want to make Dean too uncomfortable.

The television was on. Some local morning talk show. He wasn’t interested. There were magazines in the corner, Better Homes and Gardens and Martha Stewart. He riffled through all of them, hoping for a Car and Driver or something more manly. There was a stack of Photography Today at the bottom, though, and Dean flipped through one idly.

The other residents came out to the dayroom in ones and twos, taking up positions either around the television or near the door to the courtyard.

At seven thirty, Dean heard the double doors at the far end of he wing buzz open, and Benny and Rob strolled into the wing, Uriel and the other tech, a small fellow whose badge read ‘Alfie,’ left without saying goodbye to anyone.

“How was your night?” Benny said to Dean by way of greeting.

“It was fine,” Dean answered, “I ended up taking one of those pills and was able to sleep pretty good.”

“Good. I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to admit you need help.”

Dean nodded, his chest a little tight. He had asked for help, and had gotten it.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that I won’t be tailing you today.”

“Really?” Dean squawked.

“Really. You’re doing okay. If you need meds though, you just speak up, a’right?” Benny urged him, walking away to talk to Rob and Anna at the desk next to the television room.

The tightness left Dean’s chest. He felt free. Not that hadn’t enjoyed the Cajun’s easy company, but he’d resented being babysat for the entire day and night.

The young man Dean had noticed at lunchtime bobbed into the dayroom, standing in front of the television and looking over the other patients for all the world like a preacher overlooking his congregation. Dean halfway expected him to call them to rise or something.

But the young man moved on, walking over to the table in the corner. He picked up a random magazine and then planted himself right next to Dean.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m good, man, how are you?”

“I’m feeling it today,” the young man replied, grinning.

Dean was thrown by the fact that while he was smiling amicably, he scented aggressive. Dean leaned back, repulsed, stomach knotting. He didn’t want to get into anything with another resident, not after just being cleared by whoever it was who was deciding things about his mental state.

“You ever read this one?” the man said, holding out the magazine. It was a Southern Living.

“Can’t say that I have,” Dean answered cautiously.

“Can I take it, then?”

“Go for it.”

“Thank you,” the younger man said, and skipped over to sit in the next row.

A man sitting several chairs over leaned in toward Dean.

“I’m Mark,” he said, holding out his hand. He was a good twenty years older than Dean, and wore a dove-gray sweatshirt with a Harley Davidson logo on the front. His workboots didn’t have laces, and flopped exhaustedly on his feet.

“Dean,” he said, shaking Mark’s outstretched hand.

“Let me give you some advice. Whatever you do, do not give any of your breakfast to that fella,” the man told him, looking at him conspiratorially.

“Why?”

“He ain’t right in the head.”

Dean bit back a reply. There was a little something wrong in all of their heads, but he didn’t say it out loud.

Mark frowned a little. “You’ll want to get something from the nurse before you go into heat, boy,” the older man said sitting back, his words blunt but his expression sympathetic.

“I can’t go into heat,” answered Dean, reluctant to talk about it but feeling like he had to explain to this man why such a topic didn’t apply to him. “They had me shot up with supressants the whole time I was... gone. I just... had a very vivid dream this morning.”

The man looked at him skeptically. “Whatever you say.”

Uncertainly nestled into the pit of Dean’s gut. He’d had a shot, recently he thought, although he didn’t know exactly how long ago. It was surely less than a month. His trainers hadn’t wanted to let him go into a heat, as that would waste valuable time, and they wouldn’t whore him out-- he guessed he was more valuable as a fighter. So there was no way he could have a heat. No way.

As soon as the pharmacy window opened, Dean bolted out of his chair. Anna was surprised to see him.

“I need a supressant shot,” he said directly.

She was taken aback for a moment. “Okay, do you know when you last had one?”

“No, I don’t know when my last one was. I had four or five, but I can’t... I can’t do _that_ here.” He clenched his jaw in revulsion, rolling the magazine into a tight scroll.

Anna nodded. “I have to get a prescription for it from Dr. McWhorter or from the physician on call.”

“How long will that take?”

“Not long,” Anna answered noncommittally.

Dean pulled in a deep breath, trying to circumvent the tightness that was threatening to overwhelm him again. There was so much _waiting_ at this place. Waiting for meals. waiting for meds, waiting for people to come and go. He went back to his seat and flopped the magazine back on the pile.

He sat down to wait for Cas.

 

 

Castiel left early again, hoping to join Dean at breakfast at St. Brigid’s. He drove a little too fast, a little more aggressively than he meant to. It had been a long, lonely night.

He passed Uriel and Alfie in the lobby. They just nodded at one another, Castiel knowing that he would find out how Dean was from Dean himself today.

He found Dean in the little cafeteria, eating with an older man and another patient that Castiel knew was called Millie-- she had dementia and a very fluent form of aphasia, that made her a sweet if incomprehensible companion. Dean wore an expression of polite befuddlement that made Cas smile.

He looked up as Castiel approached. Cas wasn’t wearing scent blockers-- he felt that it was dishonest, that it caused people more distress when they had to guess at a designation, or were left uncertain-- and he saw Dean take in a deep breath. Even from across the room he saw Dean’s pupils blow open, and was excited to know that he had that effect on him.

He bypassed the hot line, grabbing a banana instead and sitting next to Dean. Chuck’s appeal to watch their public displays still ringing in his head. He reached out and held Dean’s hand instead.

Dean gripped it tightly. It looked like he’d hardly had anything to eat.

Suddenly, Cas smelled omega slick, and he drew in a sharp breath. “Dean?”

“Something is wrong,” Dean rumbled.

The older man next to Dean nodded, pointing at him with a forkful of eggs. “You need to talk to the nurse. Like, an hour ago.”

Millie stared at Dean, open mouthed, then chuckled. “He’ll be just fine. His mate is here,” she said brightly.

He saw Dean break into a sweat, and he looked like he might vomit.

“I don’t want to have a heat, Cas, I can’t do it,” Dean moaned, leaning over into Cas.

“I know,” Cas said, pulling Dean into his arms and rubbing his back and shoulders. Dean continued to chant, _no no no_ , into his chest. Cas held him while the wave of fever washed over him and dissipated. He couldn’t help but inhale the intoxicating smell of Dean’s slick-- he noted the new heaviness of his scent as it changed, as it deepened into something even more alluring.

“Can you finish eating?”

Dean shook his head. “I feel sick.”

Cas drew away slightly, guiding Dean out of the cafeteria. “Let’s go back and talk to Anna.”

He saw Benny’s eyes widen in alarm as Dean walked past. Cas just nodded curtly.

Castiel keyed the double doors open.

Anna was at the dayroom desk and looked up in surprise, but knew immediately what was happening to Dean.

“Are you okay?” she asked him gently. “Dr. McWhorter still hasn’t sent over the prescription for the suppressants, but as soon as she does we’ll get them to you. They won’t end your heat but they should help.”

“How can this be happening?” Dean groaned, turning into Cas again. “They were giving me shots all the damn time.”

“It’s a breakthrough heat, Dean, it probably was brought on by meeting your truemate.”

Dean shuddered against Cas, who embraced him and murmured, “You’re okay,” into the shell of his ear. “Let’s go lay down,” he suggested, leading Dean down the hall.

Dean lay down in the modest little bed and arched his back, moaning. Castiel didn’t dare lay down with him, so he pulled a desk chair next to the bed and placed a hand on Dean’s forehead. His hair was damp and he looked up at Cas with lust-blown eyes, the line of his throat long and vulnerable. Castiel squirmed in his chair, his cock rapidly hardening.

“What do we do, Cas? What can we do... _here_?” Dean asked, shifting uncomfortably on the mattress.

“I don’t know. I’m going to track down Naomi, see if we can’t get that suppressant to take the edge off,” he muttered. He leaned down and kissed Dean on the temple, scrupulously staying away from his mouth. They both knew what would happen if they kissed right now.

He went into the duty desk, knocking on Naomi’s closed door.

“Enter.”

Castiel opened the door but didn’t come all the way into her office. He was aware that Dean’s heat scent was trailing behind him.

Naomi’s nostrils flared. “Is that Dean?”

“Didn’t Anna tell you?”

“I haven’t been down the wing yet,” she answered. She opened her briefcase and pulled out her prescription pad, sticking it in the pocket of her jacket.

She clicked down the hallway next to Castiel and went straight to Dean’s room. She checked Dean’s eyes with a penlight, then picked up his wrist and looked at her watch, timing his pulse. “I’ll have Anna bring an oral suppressant over right now,” she said, releasing Dean’s hand.

“I need a shot,” Dean grunted, obviously fighting against another spike.

“A shot won’t help at this point,” Naomi said brusquely and whisked out of the room.

A moment later she and Anna reappeared-- Anna held a paper cup with a small red pill and another cup full of water.

Dean took the pill and swallowed the water in two gulps.

“Do you need more water?” Castiel asked him, concerned about the abruptness of this heat. Usually Omegas can sense the start within a couple of hours and have time to eat and hydrate in advance. Dean had either ignored some early signs or this heat had hit him like a light being turned on.

Dean nodded, holding out the cup.

“I’ll bring you some more--”

“His eyes are glassy and his pulse is high. Start an IV,” Dr. McWhorter ordered from the hallway.

Dean rolled his eyes and sank back into his pillow.

“Castiel, I need to speak with you,” Naomi said, and motioned Cas out into the hall as Anna passed back into Dean’s room. “You have to leave,” she said to him, her voice low and intense.

“Why?” Cas asked, outraged.

“You have to have noticed that his heat is affecting you. In case you can’t tell, we can all smell your rut beginning. You can’t honestly think I can let you stay.”

Castiel’s belly tightened. She was right, he was aroused by Dean’s smell and the way he was displaying his throat and chest to Cas, but there was an urgency behind his own budding erection that he was trying hard to tamp down on. And the way he’d driven in that morning...

“You’re right, of course. Just... Let me say goodbye.”

 

 

Anna gave Dean a larger cup of chilled water. He choked it down, feeling the cold make his stomach contract in protest.

“We’ll move you in just a few minutes,” she told him.

“Move me? Move me where?” Dean felt a nudge of fear in his back and along his ribcage as he scented his distress.

“We have a room set aside for heats,” she answered, hesitating to leave while Castiel and Dr. McWhorter stood just outside the door.

The two were arguing.

Dean groaned. “Can’t I just leave now? I need to go home with Cas.”

Anna hummed. “We’ll see what Dr. McWhorter says.”

Castiel came in, smelling like alpha and... rut. Dean leaned up longingly. The leather undertone of his scent was markedly stronger, and went straight to Dean’s hole as another burst of slick broke through.

“Can we have a moment alone?” Cas asked Anna, who left quickly.

Cas sat on the edge of the bed and held Dean tightly. “I have to go.”

“No,” replied Dean flatly.

“I can’t stay here, I just can’t,” Castiel said sadly. “I’m going into rut and I absolutely can not stay here. Some of the other omegas here have been traumatized by alphas and we can not lose their trust. Do you understand, Dean?”

Dean started to let go of Castiel’s shirt slowly, little by little, nodding dazedly.

“Cas,” Dean moaned. “I want to come with you,” he mumbled.

Cas held Dean for a moment, hoping that his silence could be his answer.

“Even if we could go and ride this out together, I might claim you--”

“So?”

“I’m not sure you would want that. We haven’t had the chance to talk about... about anything.”

“You’re right,” said Dean, after a moment. “I’m sorry. You have to go. _Go_ ,” he said again, turning loose of Cas. “I’ll stay here, they said they have a heat-room I can stay in until... you know.”

Castiel’s relief was physical. He could see the degree of self-restraint that Dean was employing to let Castiel leave.

Cas went into the bathroom, unbuttoning his oxford and pulling off his undershirt. If he’d undressed in front of Dean...

The tee was better than nothing. He buttoned up but didn’t bother tucking his shirt back in.

He came back into Dean’s room, holding the shirt out placatingly.

“You’re amazing,” he said, stroking Dean’s hair. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. It should only be about a day,” he said to Dean as he reluctantly pulled away. Before he could even stand up, though, he’d bent back down to kiss him gently. “This will help,” he said, handing the undershirt to Dean.

“I don’t have a spare shirt or anything for you to take. I washed it--” Dean started to say, looking around.

Castiel grabbed Dean’s pillow and yanked the case off, folding it tightly and cramming it into a pocket of his coat. Dean laughed, quietly impressed. Castiel inhaled, suddenly aware that this little transgression had turned Dean on quite a bit. He felt his own cock stiffen again in reply.

Dean seemed to sense this, pushing at him, saying, “Go now or you never will.”

“I know,” Cas answered. He left without looking back.

He trotted down the hall, taped-up keycard at the ready, hoping not to encounter any other patients while he smelled like rutting alpha and aroused omega.

Anna was leaving the duty station with an IV cart as he passed.

“Take care of him,” he said, pointing at her.

“Of course we will,” she called back, and Castiel keyed out of the ward and tried not to run to his car.


	15. HEAT

Watching Castiel strip that pillow should not have been as sexy as it had turned out to be. As Cas left, Dean couldn’t decide if he should try to walk the floor for a while or lay back in bed and stroke himself.

He didn’t really have a choice, as Anna came in just after Cas left. She stood in the doorway, and said, “Dean, you should probably come with me.”

Dean followed her up the hall. There was a door with one of those ubiquitous card-locks-- Anna keyed into it and led Dean inside.

This room was much smaller, and while it smelled disused Dean could also detect a strong undercurrent of omega-in-heat that made him uneasy. There were two beds of the same sort as in the other rooms, and the identical bookcases, these holding what looked like extra bed linens, but there were also rolling bedside trays like he’d seen in hospitals. Above each bed was an old, beige intercom system, with a call button dangling within reach of the bed. On the opposite wall from the beds was a small bathroom. There were no desks, nowhere to sit but on the mattress. He took a deep breath. This room obviously had one purpose and one purpose only.

Anna turned down the sheets of the bed closest to the door. Not the one Dean would have picked, but he supposed it made sense to Anna. He sat gingerly in the bed, uncomfortable as his crevice was slippery with slick-- he felt it soak through his pants and into the bedsheets underneath him. Already.

“I’m going to get you some supplies. Make yourself comfortable.” She slipped out, leaving the door cracked because he wasn’t in the thick of it, yet.

He hadn’t had a heat in years-- in over a decade, actually, since he’d gone on suppressants as soon as he legally could. Despite how much he’d loved her, he had never even shared a heat with Lisa, who always talked about how hot that would be, how it would make them better lovers.

He hated heats, hated how merciless the need was, hated how helpless they made him feel. He’d forgotten how hot he flushed with fever, how saturated he felt with arousal. He’d never wanted to be like that in front of anyone before, but despite himself all he wanted right now was to be with Cas, to feel his lips on his and his fingers prying into his cleft.

Feeling light-headed, he lay on his side in the bed, panting. The mattress was covered in crackly industrial plastic, and he moved into a more comfortable position self-consciously. He palmed himself, adjusting his erection as he got harder and harder. Despite the harsh texture of the denim, he thrust into the pressure a little, and got lost in the friction between his dick and the fabric of his jeans. He gripped himself as best he could through the material and rolled his hips.

Suddenly, Anna swept back into the room with a pair of pajama pants and a handful of paper and plastic items.

Dean curled up over his erection, surprised.

“You’re fine,” Anna said, holding up a hand, “Nothing I haven’t seen before. I do need to prep your IV. Again,” she added sympathetically.

Dean relinquished his left hand and Anna swiped at the skin with an alcohol swab, then slid the needle into a vein. “I’m not going to hook this up just yet, I’ll be back in just a bit with some water and something for you to eat,” she told him, and left as abruptly as she entered.

He sighed. Rich alphas had rut spas with discreet, well-trained staff that catered to their every fantasy.

He got a slippery mattress and a door that didn’t lock from the inside.

But the door was closed now... and the whole staff had to know that he was going into heat... That other omega, Mark, had tried to tell him what was happening before Dean even had the first clue, so clearly, everyone out there was aware of exactly what was going on in here...

He stood up as quickly as he could, feeling a rivulet of slick slide down the back of his leg, and pulled the towel off of the hook in the bathroom. It was rough and smelled like burnt cotton, but he only needed it to catch when he came, anyway.

He stripped off his jeans and pulled on the pajama pants and jumped back in bed. He smelled Cas from his white undershirt, and was suddenly rock-hard. He felt a new wave of slick slide along his crease.

He reached between his legs, pulling slick up past his balls onto the shaft of his cock. He began to stroke, breathing in the scent of fresh water and sweet grass from Cas’ shirt. He knew better than to slide a finger into his hole yet-- he would have to save that for later, after these peaks stopped feeling like a drowsy, languid high and started to feel like the crest of a wave that would never break.

He ran their first meeting over and over in his head. Cas making him turn his head to see that he was unmarked. Cas letting him scent along his neck. Allowing him to just hold on to him while his panic subsided. He pressed his face into the shirt, stifling a moan, as he felt himself tipping, not quite able to fall over the brink.

He thought of that first kiss in the phone room. Cas had been so surprised, not quite timid but definitely not taking more than Dean was offering. He was an alpha, but he was different somehow.

He still wasn’t close.

So he pictured Cas standing behind him as he bent over bare-assed in front of him. Cas nudging one finger in, stroking it in and out, adding a second and stretching him open. Then he actually imagined himself presenting to the alpha, _presenting_ \-- and the idea made him breathe heavier and break out into a sweat. He wanted to present to Cas, and then Cas would be pressing his hard, red cock against his hole. just pressing gently, rhythmically, until the ring of muscle gave way as it was supposed to--

He heard a click and a rattle as the door was unlocked.

But at the same instant he was crashing, stroking one finger over the head of his cock as semen sprayed out of the slit, and pressing up with his other hand on his balls, coming for all he was worth. He cried out hoarsely, heedlessly.

As he convulsed, he kept his eyes closed and his head tucked down, aware that someone was waiting outside the door, holding it barely cracked, waiting for him to finish.

He lay back, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut. He moaned softly, then croaked, “Come in.”

He wanted to explain how different everything was during heat. How there was no stopping the train once it had left the station. He wanted to apologize for not being able to slow down, much less wait, but whoever it was had to have known what was going on in here before they tried to come in.

Anna walked in quietly and smiled down at him softly, placing a handful of green plastic packages on the table next to the pants, saying, “Sorry, I forgot these, and thought you might be more comfortable with them.” She snapped on a blue glove and gathered up the towel he’d used to catch his ejaculate in, saying, “I’ll bring you some more towels, too, okay?” She winked at him. “Nothing we haven’t seen here before.”

“Uh-huh,” was all he could manage, and he pulled the bedcovers up over his shoulders, melting into sleep.

Worst spa ever.

 

 

Castiel drove with all four windows open. He was hot, but he actually hoped someone would lean in and accost him at a red light, he felt so reckless and worked up and was raring for a fight. He drove as aggressively as he dared, wanting to work out some of the tension he felt building up before he got home.

He knew it wouldn’t be this way if he’d just been able to stay with Dean.

He was angry. Angry about their circumstances. Angry that Dean was going to face at least a day of his heat without him. If this rut only lasted a day or so-- alpha biology was easier to trick than omega. But Castiel had been on rut supressants and this was as unexpected for him as Dean’s heat. So a day, day and a half. Dean could hold on for that long. He was tough.

But then what? Rut or no, could he see Dean at all until he was released?

After this, he might not even be welcome at St. Brigid’s ever again. He’d abused his rights to come and go freely to spend time with the omega, and had inadvertently sent Dean spiraling into a heat. He thought of the keycard that he’d broken and then tossed down so carelessly when he’d seen Dean throwing himself against the double-doors. His priorities had shifted in a heartbeat, and it troubled him.

As he drove, he left a message at his office, letting everyone know that he had to take some personal days and might be out of touch. He then called Hester on her cell phone and explained that he was having an unexpected rut, and that he didn’t have time to set up an email autoreply. He knew she was bursting with questions, since he hadn’t been in touch since the day before the police raid, but she only made him promise to call her back as soon as he was able. He left a voicemail on Rachael’s phone and then decided that was it. Fuck the rest, he could barely concentrate on the road anymore.

He marched up the stairs to his apartment two at a time. Inside the cool, dark living room, he wasted no time hanging up his coat, instead throwing it on the back of the couch, and he dropped his case unceremoniously in front of the door. He pulled a beer out of his fridge and popped it open on the countertop, and drank it all in long, slow pulls.

He stood at the sink, holding the cool bottle to his temple... waiting for the alcohol to go to work... wondering if he should have another... when he finally felt a low tingle at the base of his skull. One beer wasn’t enough to get him remotely buzzed, but he desperately needed something to just take the edge off his mood.

Castiel was reluctant to shower-- he didn’t want to lose any of Dean’s scent, which clung to his skin and clothes still. But it was easiest, for some reason, for him to get off alone under the warm blast of water, so he finally undressed quickly and got in.

He faced the water at first, just holding his hard cock tightly, then began rocking it back and forth in his hand slowly. He imagined lying Dean back in his bed, he saw himself pushing the omega’s legs apart. He turned around and reached for his body wash and dumped a generous handful over the head of his cock, rubbing the gel over the sensitive skin. He would regret the choice of lubricant later, but right now the feeling of his fingers running over his glans sent jolts down the backs of his legs and his knot began to swell and fuck he just needed release.

He tried to picture the taller man supine in front of him, knees gaping, cock hard and glistening-- he didn’t have any idea what Dean looked like naked, but as tall and muscular as he was, he was surely built the same way everywhere. He imagined pressing his finger into the cleft between his legs, pressing into warm, sweet slick, then slowly working a finger, then two, and then three, into his hole-- Cas jerked harder and harder as he thought of teasing that hole open wider and wider, until it was gaping and pulsing for his own cock.

As he pushed harder into his fist, he tried to imagine that he was thrusting into Dean, faster and faster. He grasped his knot with his other hand-- awkwardly, as he didn’t usually pop a knot when he was coming by himself-- and tried to squeeze rhythmically. He wanted to make Dean yell out, wanted to see him bare his neck in excitement--

It was that image that pushed Cas over, that finally sent the orgasm he was building up shuddering through his hips. He thrust over and over into his hands, heard his come hit the far shower wall in bursts. He clenched his teeth over Dean’s name.

When he was done, he shakily tossed water on the tiles to wash away the stripes of semen, and stepped out of the bathtub. He didn’t smell Dean any longer, which made him nearly double over. He needed Dean so much it took his breath away.

Suddenly he remembered the pillow case he’d stolen from St. Brigid’s, and ran out of the bathroom to retrieve it.

He stood, naked and dripping, in he middle of his apartment with his face buried in the white cloth, inhaling the scent of oranges and honey and mate.

This was going to be a hard rut.

 


	16. OSCILLATIONS

Dean was asleep when Anna returned. He woke up at the sound of her damned card sliding through the lock, and all of a sudden his pulse roared through his head.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, trying not to panic.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Anna said softly, sounding not sorry at all.

Dean shook his head, scrubbing his face with one hand. “It’s okay. What time is it?”

“It’s past lunch. Your brother called. I explained what was going on and he wanted you to call him as soon as you can.”

“Can I go now? Can I go call him?” he asked.

“You can,” Anna answered cautiously. “You can come and go as you want, Dean. The lock is purely for your protection, but no one will bother you here, okay? I’ll vouch for Benny and Rob, and aside from me, everyone else is omega.”

Dean nodded and got up slowly. A line of slick traced its way down the back of his leg. “Sonofabitch,” he said softly. “I have to go past everybody.”

“Yes but remember where you are. No one will judge you out there.”

She was probably right. It could be that some of his fellow residents had endured heats under far worse circumstances.

He sat up stiffly and trudged to the phone room, walking awkwardly to keep the wet spot on his pants from clinging to his thigh.

A few of the residents in the day room looked up sympathetically as he wobbled by them. Millie smiled and waved. He smiled back tightly.

He didn’t sit in the broken down chair by the phone, choosing instead to hunker over it awkwardly.

His brother answered on the first ring.

“Sam, it’s Dean--”

“Dean, are you okay? They told me you’d gone into heat\--”

“I did, yeah, but I’m fine. They have me on suppressants so it shouldn’t actually be that bad. Maybe two days, tops, and by then I should be able to get out of here.” Dean winced and leaned his head against the grubby wall, wishing he could have kept that information to himself. He would have given his brother some other excuse for not being able to see him that night. It seemed like now that they had his ‘consent’ to give out information, they were determined to over share.

“So you’re doing okay, then? Really?”

Dean sighed. “Really. If anything isn’t on the up and up I’ll let you know, alright?”

“Okay. Keep me posted, Dean.”

“Sure thing. I gotta go, someone is waiting for the phone,” he lied.

“Take care of yourself,” Sam said as they ended the call.

He made his way around the day room back to his new digs, Anna waiting for him by the door.

“Can you eat this for me?” she asked, holding out a protein bar and a cup of water.

He made a face. “I can try,” he said, feeling a ripple of nausea high in his gut.

“I’m going to hook up your IV as soon as you eat and go shower, okay? Then I have a suppressant for you to take.”

Dean was confused. “I just took one, didn’t I?”

“You did about six hours ago, but these have a very short half-life so we can give them to you more frequently, try to keep your hormones a little steadier.”

He nodded, skinning the nutrition bar slowly. It smelled like vitamins.

He ground up the bar with his teeth-- chewing wasn’t even the word to describe what he had to go through to get the thing to dissolve in his mouth. It tasted a little like the smell of hay. At least there wasn’t much of it.

When Anna handed him the water, he gulped it thankfully and managed to get the rest of the protein bar down. He didn’t feel any more nauseated than before, at least.

She handed him one of those little paper cups which he knocked back without a second thought, following the pill with a mouthful of water. As directed, he went to the bathroom and showered quickly, washing away a crust of sticky slick and shampooing his sweaty hair. Afterwards, Anna connected the short piece of tubing on his hand to the IV. His hand cramped a bit as the colder fluid seeped into his vein.

So far he felt okay. He might be able to sleep again. That first hour had been pretty dicey. But the suppressants they were giving him might be keeping this heat to a dull thrum. He sat back in relief. Maybe all he had to worry about for the next two days were racy dreams and occasional hard-ons.

After a couple of hours of fitful tossing and turning, he hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. He thought about going into the day room to watch television while he could, but decided to just hunker down and try to rest. The last thing he wanted was to have to walk back to his room with slick running down to his ankles and a raging boner tenting his pants.

As evening approached, the sun shone relentlessly into the room so Dean closed the blinds. Was the slanting sunlight making the room hot? Dean looked around for a thermostat so he could turn the air conditioning down but didn’t see one. It was an older building and probably only had one master per wing.

He was definitely feeling hotter, and he realized it had nothing to do with the fiercely slanting sunshine.

Anna had left him a stack of absorbent pads and some kind of fishnet underwear that he wasn’t even considering wearing. So when a fresh burst of slick dampened his crack, it soaked right through his pants.

Dammit. It was starting again.

 

 

Cas chose to stretch out on the couch. His bedsheets overwhelmed the smell of Dean’s pillowcase with his own scent, and he hadn’t washed them in a couple of weeks, anyway. After his first hurried orgasm in the shower, he’d gathered up a few towels and a box of tissue and turned the television to some crime drama marathon that he was only marginally interested in. After a few minutes of shifting and wallowing on the couch, he decided to make something to eat.

He had a stocked freezer, but he settled on a small microwaveable pizza because it would be quickest. He usually subsisted on take-out and frozen meals, as he was often to tired or morose to cook for himself. He was glad he did, because he hadn’t had a solo rut in a couple of years but he remembered very well how exhausting they could be.

He ate his pizza with a knife and fork at his dining table, forcing himself to finish off a large glass of water, and tried to invest some interest in the television show in the background. But his thoughts just kept circling back to Dean.

Castiel hadn’t really thought about having a mate, ever. He’d had two serious relationships, both of which had flatlined. Partly because he threw everything he had into his work instead of into his partner, but partly, he thought, because he just wasn’t mate material in the first place. He was, according to Daphne, cold, distant, and calculating, and according to Balthazar he was too focused, too intense, and generally too alpha. But here he was, rutting and pining for a man he barely knew.

And yet.

He treasured Dean. Even before he encountered Dean the second time, he knew he’d be heartbroken if he hadn’t made it through that harrowing night. And Dean’s desperation to get to him in that hallway at St. Brigid’s, that surely indicated that Cas meant something to Dean as well. He’d said he felt lost without him.

Cas thought about those round green eyes, Dean’s full lips and his wry, cynical smile, and warmth pooled in his groin.

Dean seemingly wasn’t comfortable in his identity as an omega and seemed, like many omegas, to have a deep-seated distrust of alphas, yet he fell into physical intimacy with Cas naturally, from playfully bumping Cas’ knee under the table to groping him in the courtyard.

And so what was he doing right now? How was he coping with being in heat? He wondered how Dean was getting himself off-- did he think of Castiel? Did he think about nothing and instead just reveled in the sensation of being aroused?

Castiel was moving his fingers slowly up and down the shaft of his cock, stroking over the head almost thoughtfully. His arousal was building quickly, and he knew these climaxes would start coming closer and closer together until his rut ebbed.

The only thing keeping the two of them apart now was circumstance. He wanted to be with Dean and he was certain that Dean wanted the same thing. He just had to wait this out. Just a day or two. It would be fine.

He got up and went back to the shower.

 

 

Six thirty in the morning. At least that’s what the nurse named Hael told him, when she’d hooked up a new saline bag and started to take his vitals.

“No one has ever died from a heat,” she told him acerbically as she counted his pulse.

The room was still dark, but fluorescent light from the corridor pierced the dimness and he hid his eyes.

He couldn’t stand the artificial brightness yet.

Two days now of frantic jerking and fingering himself-- he’d given in early, and was now barely able to get himself off.

Right now he was at the peak of an oscillation that went from intense arousal to restless weariness-- and he was half out of his mind from lack of sleep.

“I need him,” Dean pleaded with Hael as she took his pulse. “I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have let him go. I need him here,” he said.

All he could think about was missing Cas’ smell, which had grown stale on the shirt he’d left behind-- the coolness of the riverbank and the dusky undertone of old leather was starting to smell like damp cotton. Dean missed his gruff, rumbling voice, his warmth and how Dean could feel the echoing fever through his clothes when he last saw him-- and he realized that he’d been so wrong to let him walk out.

This was as bad, or worse, than heats he’d had as a teenager, before he’d been able to start suppressant shots. At least when he was younger he’d had a fake knot to grind against.

Hael pulled the Velcro of the blood pressure cuff apart quickly, and the horrific tearing noise made Dean flinch.

He felt fever swell up from his abdomen once more, and suddenly he felt like his sticky skin had been scalded by hot water. He couldn’t stand the feeling of the blankets scratching against his feet and ankles and kicked them off violently.

“Please get Cas, please?”

“Dean, we’ve called him, but he’s still unable to leave his apartment.”

“Then he needs me, too!” Dean shouted, his voice rough and raw. He lay back in the bed, moaning wordlessly, arms spread, trying to find some part of the bed that was still cool. He sat up suddenly as his back caught fire and he burst into a sweat. His clothes were suddenly too much to bear and he wanted to shuck them off. His cock ached and pulsed, and he didn’t even care anymore about the slick drenching his pants.

Hael gently but firmly stopped him from stripping off his shirt and stroked his forehead. Dean moaned and pressed into the touch. Even though the omega nurse smelled all wrong, even though her scent like that of everyone else was now vaguely stomach-turning, he leaned into her hand helplessly.

“I’ll be right back,” she said softly.

She was actually gone for a very long time. Dean tried to wait quietly, hand on his cock, sliding his fingers gently up and down. There was so much waiting here, and nothing to fill the time with, nothing to keep him distracted. He couldn’t help but think about Cas obsessively. Was he enduring his rut with as little grace as Dean his heat? What if he tried to see Dean and they kept him out? What if he didn’t want Dean, what if his rut cleared and he realized what a pitiful excuse for a mate Dean was?

His thoughts started spinning out of control. The windows gradually faded in from deep grey to white.

After several eternities passed, he couldn’t stand the silence and began to shout again.

“Someone call him! Someone get Cas for me! Please!”

The lock clicked and Hael came in then, walking quickly; she was holding a cup of water and a paper ramekin with two red pills in one hand, and a syringe in the other.

“No, no no, don’t you dare,” he said warningly.

“Dean, this will help you get some rest, okay?”

“No, I don’t need rest, I need Cas, dammit!”

Hael set the cups on the table next to Dean’s bed. She unclipped something on the iv tubing and inserted the needle, plunging a clear liquid into the line. Afterwards she closed the diverter and pressed on the iv bag a little-- Dean’s hand and arm suddenly felt like they were on fire, even though the saline going into his veins was cold.

“Stop, please,” he whined, “I just want Cas.”

“You need to sleep,” Hael said, rubbing his shoulder, standing at his bedside for a few moments.

Dean began to feel very light, like he could glide right off of the bed and drift into the hallway like a feather, or bob away like a tired old balloon. He started to shake, even though he wasn’t cold. He reached for the sheets, kicked into a heap at his feet, wanting to cover up, wanting something to weigh him down and keep him from floating away. Hael briskly straightened the bedclothes out, asking, “Do you want another blanket?”

Dean nodded, teeth chattering from the abrupt change from blazing heat to cool, clear lightness. His restlessness drained away like dingy water down a white sink.

Hael went to the bookcase and pulled out two more blankets and draped them over him.

The heaviness of three blankets was blissful. He was getting cold now, but the shaking wasn’t as bad and his arm had stopped burning.

Hale stooped over him again, rubbing small circles over his shoulder. After a few moments, she said, “Are you feeling better?”

Dean could only nod.

Hael picked up the cups. “Do you think you can take this for me now?”

“That’s dirty pool,” Dean said, his jaw still juddering.

Hael laughed. “These are just suppressants. The same ones we’ve been giving you. We just thought you could use a little extra help resting for a while.”

He nodded again, struggling to sit up. Hael helped him with an arm behind his shoulders. He knocked the pills back with a shaking hand and downed a few gulps of water, some of which went down wrong, making him cough. At her prompting, though, he finished the cupful.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked, tossing the cups into a paper bag by the door.

Dean shook his head and collapsed back onto the bed.

He felt drowsy, now, and his shivering was finally stilling under the triple layer of bedding. “This will make me sleep?”

“It will help you sleep,” the nurse said. “You have to let it do its job.”

He did want to sleep, really. He just needed a little rest, some kind of respite from this desperate heat. He didn’t know when he’d slept last, really and truly slept.

A thought crept up on him and he motioned to Hael. “Hey, can you tell Cas something for me?”

“I can leave a note,” she answered sympathetically.

“Just tell him I’m okay? Just tell him that I got this, that I’m gonna be okay. In case he’s worried.”

She smiled at his sudden change of heart. “I’ll leave a note if he calls in again. You sleep.”

“Okay,” he answered groggily, sinking down into the bed.

And he kept sinking, sinking down into the bed under the heavy weight of the covers, just sinking and sinking and sinking


	17. REPRIEVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for applicable tags/warnings.

Castiel woke slowly-- the television drama playing mindlessly in front of him had grafted itself into his dreams, so he wasn’t sure at first that he really was awake. He had Dean’s pillowcase tucked up under his jaw, and he ducked his head a little, inhaling. The scent was no longer fresh, but it was still comforting. He grabbed his phone to check the time-- it was nearly lunchtime. He’d been out for a good four hours. His rut must be abating.

Finally.

It had been more than two days already, and he’d used up his body wash and had moved on to olive oil from his kitchen, which made the shower floor slick as sin but was blissfully effective as a lubricant.

He pressed his contacts icon and pulled up a number to St. Brigid’s C wing desk. He’d been checking on Dean, who of course hadn’t been able to come to the phone, and had been asking the staff to pass along updates on his behalf as well.

“St. Brigid’s Behavioral Health Center, this is Anna, how can I help you?”

“Anna, it’s Castiel, how is Dean?”

There was a brief pause and Cas’ heart began to hammer.  
“Castiel, hello, I hope you’re doing well. Dean is... asleep,” she said cautiously.

A flicker of relief was swept aside by sudden uncertainty. “Asleep? Asleep because his heat is subsiding or....?”

“We had to sedate him. He wanted us to tell you that he’s fine. His exact words, I think, were that he’s ‘got this,’ but he’s hardly slept in the last thirty-six hours. The suppressants are probably helping, but we’re going into day three and his episodes haven’t seemed to have peaked yet.”

Castiel breathed in sharply. Heat wasn’t fatal-- an omega’s body would shut down the cycle before it came to that-- but Cas could only imagine the sort of torture Dean was going through. As his own rut dwindled, Dean’s heat was only getting more intense. “My own situation is... resolving, thankfully.”

“You should talk to Dr. McWhorter or Dr. Shurley about coming to see Dean as soon as you can,” Anna replied.

He knew what Anna was suggesting. While it would be highly inappropriate for him to visit while he was in rut, once it was over there was perhaps no reason why he couldn’t stay with Dean during the rest of his mate’s heat. “Do you... Do you let omega couples stay together?”

“We have from time to time. Usually when one partner goes into heat, the other does too, anyway. But yes, as long as you’re no longer in rut, your presence would probably be beneficial.”

He couldn’t will away the rest of his rut, but he knew that once he could get through a six-hour period without wanting to punch a hole in the wall and then fuck the hole that he was in the clear.

So... soon, probably.

He called Chuck next. Chuck picked up right before Cas thought he was going to go to voicemail.

“When are you coming back, Castiel?” Chuck asked.

Cas spluttered. “I-I don’t know-- maybe, maybe tomorrow?”

“Maybe later this afternoon?” Chuck prompted.

Castiel went cold. “I can’t be certain, Chuck,” he answered forlornly.

“I checked on Dean a few minutes ago-- he’s out cold but it’s been a rough couple of days for him. I’m sure he’ll get through it alone if he has to, but having his mate at his side would help. Come back when you can, Castiel.”

“You’re sure? It’s okay?”

“Yes, Novak, you need to come back to St. Brigid’s as soon as you can control yourself.”

“I will. As soon as I’m sure I’m over it, I’ll be there.”

“Good man.”

Castiel lay back on the couch in relief. He was going to get to see Dean, soon.

 

 

Dean came to at the smell of _mate_.

It was almost dark. He had no idea how long he’d been out. It felt like hours. He had a strange metallic taste in his mouth. He was still exhausted and wanted to sink back into the darkness, but he knew Cas was back, so he couldn’t.

His heart started beating harder and he tried to open his eyes. “Cas,” he mumbled groggily, then when he realized how weak his voice sounded, tried to yell louder. He still sounded faint and half-asleep. He sat up dizzily.

With a click and a soft buzz the door opened, and there he was. In just a white shirt and black pants-- no coat, no tie, nothing that indicated that he was there in an official capacity this time.

Cas set two paper bags and a stack of towels on the table, one bag large and full and another small and seemingly mostly empty, and then leaned down to kiss Dean on the forehead.

“Hello, Dean.”

“You came back,” Dean murmured.

“Of course I came. I’m sorry it took so long, this rut was... difficult” He kissed Dean sweetly, and Dean didn’t have the energy yet to do more than mouth him in return.

“I’ll be right back,” Cas said.

“Stop leaving, dammit,” Dean huffed.

“I want to get chairs, and I need to talk to Anna or Benny,” he answered and slipped out.

Dean stared at the paper bags for a moment, not having any idea what Cas would have brought him. Food? He couldn’t smell any food, and it seemed like he could smell every other damn thing in this place. So instead he focused on the fresh riverside smell of Cas.

His drowsiness began to peel away like leaves stripped from a stem. He felt thin and bare and cool. Was the heat over then? He couldn’t tell.

Then as he concentrated on the smell of his mate lingering in his room, he found himself growing hard under all the blankets.

Not over then.

He curled up protectively, feeling slick glide across one cheek and soak into the sheet below him. Slick that was meant for his mate. Slick that was supposed to allow his mate’s cock to bottom out inside him, slick that was supposed to let him get close to Dean, nice and tight, right up against him, so that his knot could catch and tie them together. He needed Cas. Needed him so much.

And Cas was taking too long. Fuck that.

Dean stood up but clung to the edge of the bed, trying to get his balance as the room swung a little. He grabbed the IV stand but tried not to use it to help steady him, as it looked as sturdy as a straightened coat hanger. He looked down at the ridiculous tent at the front of his pants and swore under his breath.

He shuffled to the door and leaned into the hallway, finding Castiel standing by the desk opposite the day room. He made sure the door didn’t close all the way as he eased himself into the corridor.

Cas seemed to be aware of him immediately. He broke off his conversation with Benny and came to Dean’s side.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What are you doing?” Dean countered. “Building the damn chairs from scratch?”

Cas smiled at him and ducked into the therapy room. Dean saw him grab two chairs from inside.

“Get the door?” Cas said, holding a chair on either hip, and Dean pushed the door to his room in and held it wide.

“Go sit, please,” he implored Dean, setting one chair near the bed then standing next to the other uncertainly. “Should I... should I go... later?” he asked uncertainly.

Dean sighed. He wasn’t sure, himself. He’d been so relieved to see Cas, but he was currently nestled in that quiet period in between spats of heat and he wasn’t sure he was ready for Cas to see him desperate and begging. What if he tried to get Cas to knot him?

“Rules?” said Dean to Castiel.

Cas nodded. “Rules.”

“No knotting.”

Cas hesitated. “Dean, I don’t want our first time to be here. If we have a first time...”

Dean nodded blearily from his perch at the edge of the bed and smiled. “No matter what I say?”

“No matter what you say,” Cas repeated.

Dean sighed, slumping. “Don’t get bitey.”

Cas looked appalled. “I wouldn’t-- I would never--”

“Okay, okay, I didn’t think so anyway. Just wanted to be clear.”

“Any others?”

Dean looked at Cas critically. “Don’t leave again?”

Cas nodded. “We’re going to ride out this together, I promise.” He stuck the back of the other chair under the doorknob, more or less wedging it shut.

Dean drew in a shaky breath and relaxed. Finally some privacy. And he got so turned on when he saw Cas improvise like that, when he just took charge and solved a problem. It was hot.

And suddenly, Dean was feeling warmth creep across his skin. He started to sweat a little, and felt a new slickness between his cheeks. He hung his head, steadying himself for another wave.

Castiel just watched Dean, waiting for Dean to shout at him, to tell him that this whole debacle was his fault.

Instead, Dean scrubbed his face and said, “Cas I can’t do this much longer.”

“It has to be close now,” Cas said, putting one hand on Dean’s hip and another on his shoulder, easing him down into the bed. His rut was definitely over but he was starting to sprout another erection, seeing Dean gripped so deeply by his heat. He was still torn between guilt over having inadvertently pushed Dean into this condition and arousal at seeing his mate so turned on. He clamped down on his inner alpha.

Then Dean pulled Cas down by the scruff of his neck and sought out Cas’ mouth, capturing it hungrily, thrusting in his own tongue and thrilling when Cas answered with equal eagerness.

“Want you,” murmured Dean.

Cas reached behind him. “I brought something that might help,” he said, drawing an object out of the small bag.

It was a hot pink knot, small and short, but Dean didn’t care. He whimpered at the sight of it. His arousal was getting more acute by the minute.

“This was the only one I was allowed to bring in, so I hope it’s enough.”

The idea of Castiel buying fake knots for him made Dean arch slightly, and Castiel gently kissed him again, then moved down his neck, sucking at the soft skin there. He got to the place at the corner of Dean’s shoulder and mouthed it softly, and Dean moaned and shifted again.

“What do you need, Dean?” Cas asked.

Dean inhaled deeply, taking in as much of Cas’ scent as he possibly could. He felt himself relax but at the same time his need became even more urgent. “I need to come. With you-- with you here next to me.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel hesitated, but caressed him behind his ear and along his jaw.

Dean looked squarely at Cas, green eyes wide. This would be intimate, what he was asking. He’d wanted to fuck Cas senseless just minutes after they met in that hallway, but now, in the midst of heat, he felt strangely at odds with himself.

“I can be here for you, now,” Castiel answered. “Will you let me?”

Dean closed his eyes and sagged onto his elbow in acquiescence. “Yes,” he said, relieved.

Castiel shifted to the edge of the bed, canting his hips a bit, giving his own cock room as he grew harder. Dean saw, and his eyes grew even wider.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Dean took Castiel’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “I’m glad you’re staying,” he said.

He tugged the covers away, the sheet and the three stifling blankets, and stretched out on the bed. He moaned as his erection slid up against his thigh.

Cas’ hooded eyes had a shallow rim of dark blue around the pupils. and his cheeks were flushed. Dean felt a little whirl of triumph, knowing that he was behind that lustblown expression.

Cas tugged off Dean’s soaking pants gradually-- once they were down around his ankles, Dean kicked them off impatiently.

“I want your knot,” he groaned, and Cas just shook his head.

“Not yet,” was all he said in reply, but he tenderly pushed Dean’s knee up. “Relax for me,” he instructed, and Dean felt the shift, the slip that he normally hated, into omega. He went slack, and let Cas flex his leg slowly up and out.

Dean had been at himself so much that his hole was already stretched open, waiting. He swirled the knot, coating it with slick, and pressed it slowly into his body. It still burned slightly as he worked it in. Dean moaned as it slid into him, stopping abruptly at the base, and he felt his muscles clench down around it. He grunted, and saw Castiel’s pupils blow open even wider.

“What do you want me to do?” Cas whispered.

Dean was gasping, thrusting against the knot, wringing Cas’ hand, which he still clenched tightly. He couldn’t answer. He shook his head in frustration. When he turned his head to the side, Cas saw that his pillow was now damp from sweat.

“Make me come,” Dean finally whispered, closing his eyes.

Cas gaped.

“Don’t make me beg, Cas,” Dean urged.

Castiel pulled Dean’s shirt up, running a finger thoughtfully over a nipple. They were already hard, puckered into little discs, and Dean whimpered at the touch.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” Dean panted.

Castiel leaned forward and kissed one of his nipples hesitantly, and Dean bucked, pressing his chest to Cas’ face impatiently. Castiel began to suck and bite gently, and Dean moaned. Cas moved over to the other one, running his tongue around the edge and over the hard little tip.

Dean groaned and contorted, reaching down toward the knot in his hole.

Cas stopped his hand and rested it by his hips, letting lose of the other wrist and doing the same, pressing them into the pillow gently.

“Let me take care of you,” Cas whispered.

Dean writhed as Castiel grabbed the base of the knot and thrust it in. He licked Dean’s nipple once more, wanting to see his back arch again, and wasn’t disappointed.

Cas was now as hard as he’d been during his rut, and knew he was leaking into his boxers.

He realized that Dean’s own cock looked dry and red.

He ran his fingers around the rim of Dean’s hole, gathering up slick, and pressed it to Dean’s glans.

Dean whimpered and pulled away at the touch. He was sore from beating off so often over the last three days, so instead Cas gripped his balls in one hand and pushed the knot with the other.

Dean gasped as pleasure blossomed inward from the stretch of the tiny knot, and pushed back greedily against the pressure.

Castiel pushed the base backwards, tipping the knot back and forth, making Dean cry out softly. He let up, then tipped it again, pushing farther in this time, realizing that this would be the angle of his own cock were he inside Dean.

Dean was gasping in time to the rocking of the knot, now, and Castiel squirmed.

The little dildo wasn’t quite long enough to reach his prostate, but the width of the knot catching on the rim of his hole, pushing in and out, sliding up and down his slick walls, was blissful in itself.

“That’s it,” he whispered into Dean’s temple. “You’re so beautiful, so strong. It’s almost over.”

“I can’t go,” Dean whimpered. “I can’t go...” Suddenly he tipped his head back, showing Castiel his throat, silently asking Cas to mark him.

It took everything Cas had not to stand over Dean and clamp his teeth down on the muscle in Dean’s shoulder. Instead he leaned forward and nosed into Dean’s neck, drawing in as much of Dean’s sweet scent as he could. This way he couldn’t see the long, bare line of Dean’s throat.

“Please help me, I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Dean gasped.

Castiel kissed and licked his way down Dean’s throat to his belly, and hesitating only a moment, leaned in and licked the tip of his cock. It was sticky where the slick had already started to dry, and Dean whimpered and pulled away. But out of the corner of his eye, Cas saw him clutch ecstatically at the pillow behind his head with both hands.

Dean couldn’t believe what was happening. His alpha, his _alpha_ , was going down on him. Alphas didn’t do that. He’d never been with an alpha before, but everyone knew they didn’t take care of their partners _this_ way.

He was so sore, so sensitive, that the least little stroke of Cas’ tongue made him tilt his head back and close his eyes, and at the same time pull away. He could feel every ridge of Cas’ lips, every minuscule movement of his tongue. He couldn’t see what Castiel was doing, but he felt his breath feathering over his cock. He gasped as Cas licked again.

“Is this okay?” Cas murmured, and Dean didn’t know what to answer. Yes, it was unbelievable, but again, he felt strange knowing that his alpha was going to take care of him like this.

“Yes," he said, nodding vigorously, “just be caref--” but he couldn’t finish his sentence because Cas was deliberately rounding the head of his cock with his lips and laving it with his tongue.

This time Dean cried out, and didn’t even care. Cas was pushing the knot in and out in a steady pulse and his tongue was delicately flicking the cusp of his glans.

Dean breathed in deeply and held it when Cas took him deeper into his mouth, and again he could feel everything-- the movement of Cas’ tongue on the underside of his cock to the ridges in the roof of his mouth as they scraped over the head. He clenched on the knot, knowing that this combination of sensations was impossible but his body didn’t care.

Cas bobbed up and down, pulling and pushing the knot softly. After a few more strokes, Dean came in Castiel’s mouth, grinding up and down, simultaneously gratified by the fullness behind him and shocked by the impossible sensitivity of his cock as Castiel swallowed.

Cas stayed down there through all of the aftershocks, suckling Dean’s cock as it softened. Dean breathed in deep, throaty gasps, finally pushing Cas away from his over-stimulated dick.

Cas began to draw out the knot, but Dean grabbed his wrist. “No, stop, leave it. Please. I want to feel tied. It’ll help.” He reseated the knot and leaned back in bed, eyes closed. Cas shifted again, thinking about a day when it might be him tying Dean after making love to him.

“I think I’m going to sleep. I don’t mean to. They gave me something.” He again brought Cas’ hand to his lips and held it there.

“I know,” said Cas into Dean’s temple. “You sleep. I’m going to take a shower and change clothes.”

“Take care of yourself while you’re in there. I would but I’m about to pass out,” Dean said groggily, and Cas laughed.

“I will,” he answered.

Cas did as Dean suggested. He could still taste Dean’s slick from the tip of his cock, sweet and honeyed, just like his smell. The water was hot and almost shockingly vigorous, and Cas was painting the walls in hot, ropey stripes after just a few strokes. He didn’t pop a knot-- he had been worn ragged by his rut-- but the orgasm lasted longer than usual as he continued to think about Dean, who had been so beautiful spread out on the bed, open and writhing, and how strong he was to have endured the heat of the century so far completely alone.

He dried off and tossed his towel over the puddle in front of the shower. He tiptoed out into Dean’s room, mindful of Dean asleep in the bed next to him.

The paper bag made a lot of noise as Cas pulled his clean clothes out, and he realized as he was yanking his pants up that it had actually woken Dean, who was watching him dress with a half smile on his face.

“You’re damn sexy, you know that?”

Cas huffed self-consciously, ducking his head. He folded his old clothes, placing them in the paper bag and rolling it tightly closed, hoping the musty smell of the paper would mask the scent of alpha arousal he’d left behind. Even his pro grade scent blockers could only handle so much.

He lay down behind Dean on the thin bed, holding him close. “Almost over. You’ve done so well, Dean.”

Dean exhaled in a long sigh. “You’ll still stay, right?” he asked, glancing at the chair under the doorknob.

“As long as you need,” answered Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag: Dubcon sort of because heat.  
> Also this is my first time writing anything even approaching smut. There are more sexy times ahead for our boys so I hope you all are still with me.


	18. WAITING

Dean slept nearly nine hours in Cas’ arms.

It was wakeful, edgy sleep, as the bed was entirely too narrow for both men, no matter how closely Cas held Dean. And several times Dean had nearly awoken when more waves of arousal threatened to overtake him. But the knot, for all its lack of size, did its job-- the omega’s secondary orgasms rose and ebbed softly, and Dean dozed through them, shifting languidly and stretching further back into Cas’ shoulder.

Cas woke during Dean’s last drowsy surge and pressed kisses into the back of his neck. He lay wakefully for a time in the half-light of dawn, but after Dean arched his back in his sleep, he had to carefully disentangle himself from Dean’s embrace because his cock gave an interested little twitch. He only had the one change of clothes, so he couldn’t afford to lay there and stew in his alpha pheromones.

It was the earliest hour of the morning, but was still dark enough that a nearby streetlamp illuminated the room with a pale golden light.

He settled quietly in the chair by the bed, grounding himself by sitting well back and placing both feet on the floor squarely in front of him. He let his hands lie simply in his lap, and concentrated on listing to the faint noises all about.

Castiel tried to let go of the visions of Dean that he’d conjured up during his rut. He dismissed the more recent memories of Dean in the clutches of his heat, muscles bunching and uncoiling, glowing with a thin sheen of sweat-- for the time being, at least. He tried to compartmentalize the evening’s experiences to be evaluated later.

He took a steadying breath and focused on taking air all the way down into the bottom of his lungs. One by one, he cast off errant thoughts that drifted through his mind until all he was aware of was Dean’s soft, steady respiration, the phantom tendrils of the air conditioner brushing against his skin, and the pervasive aura of Dean’s ephemeral scent.

He soon lost track even of those things, as he turned his attention inward. He was still struggling somewhat to clear his mind, but slowly, inexorably he sank deep into that place where he merely existed, serene and dark, quiet and still.

He gradually became conscious of a change in his environment and brought his attention outward again.

Dean’s breathing had changed and he was peering at Cas with one eye closed.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I’m, um... I’m meditating,” Cas said, a little self-consciously, adjusting his position in his seat.

Dean sat up in bed, looking at him like he was radioactive.

“Meditating? Now? Here?”

“Hmm. I can’t bring my laptop back here and you were sleeping soundly...”

Dean nodded. “So you weren’t born with superpowers then. You had to cultivate them with focus and discipline.”

Castiel cocked his head, a mannerism that Dean was finding more and more endearing every time he saw it.

“I don’t have superpowers,” Cas said simply.

Dean scoffed. “You just spent, what? Six, seven hours locked in a room with a heat-crazed omega? You’re a frigging stone-cold samurai.”

Cas looked down at the front of his rumpled shirt, smoothing the creases with long fingers. “Self-control is what allows me to do what I do. I can’t be affected by... by omega behaviors, or by pheromones and hormones. Even my own.” He looked away.

“You know this is different, right?” said Dean softly, hopefully. He was omega, after all.

Castiel met his gaze and crumbled a little bit. “I know.”

They were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door. Castiel jumped up and cleared away the chair that he had illicitly placed under the knob to deter intruders. He looked over his shoulder at Dean, who was sitting up on the edge of the bed.

Dean nodded and Cas opened the door.

Dr. Shurley poked his head in and asked timorously, “Am I, uh-- am I interrupting anything?”

“No, no you’re not,” answered Castiel brusquely, opening the door wider.

Dr. Shurley spotted Dean across the room. “Oh good, Dean, you’re awake--”

“Yeah I’m up and I’m feeling a hell of a lot better. So can I go now? I been here more than three days.” He glared a molten hot hole in the doctor.

Shurley flinched and held up a placating hand. “I understand that you’re anxious to get out of here. But Dr. McWhorter or I have to see you before we can make any decisions--”

“So? You see me right now. You can’t keep me here. I’m not a public menace and I’m not... I’m not a danger to myself.” He didn’t add what else he was thinking, that he had a mate to consider, now. But he glanced at Castiel tellingly.

Cas shifted, uncomfortable being between the two men. “Chuck,” he said quietly, “Let him get cleaned up, do your exit interview, and let him go.”

“He’s still in heat--”

“I’ll be with him. Not that he needs anyone to take care of him. No one will bother us.”

Shurley caved. “Alright, Naomi or I will be by again later this morning. But if I don’t think he’s one hundred percent ready to be on his own...”

“Fine,” Cas acquiesced.

“Hey, wait a minute. That’s not fine,” called Dean, but Dr. Shurley had already left, pulling the door shut behind him. “That’s not fine, Cas. What if that other doc decides I’m nuts or something?”

“Dr. McWhorter? No. She’s may have ulterior motives for wanting you to stay longer, but she’s not unethical. I doubt they’ll find any reason to keep you here. Once the paperwork is complete then you can go...” Cas stopped. He realized what he was about to say. He nearly said, You can go home with me. But where would Dean actually want to go once he’d been discharged from St. Brigid’s? To his brother’s motel? To Castiel’s apartment?

As though reading Cas’ mind, Dean stared at him, dumbfounded, the air between them charged with that unspoken question.

 

 

Sam was going stir crazy. He’d been holed up in the motel for four days now.

He’d been checking up regularly on Dean, who after three days-- three long, interminable days-- was still in heat.

With a pervasive sense of guilt he’d gone out as much as he thought he could. He’d found a favorite bookstore, visited four museums, toured the aquarium, and gone to see a matinée. But most of his time was spent in his room. He was driving Jess out of her mind. He was working remotely to make up for all the time he was missing from the firm. There was still a lot of research he could do while away from home.

But he found himself at loose ends from time to time, and at the moment he’d been mindlessly watching an early morning run of Scooby Doo on Boomerang. He dully remembered every episode they’d shown so far as the memories were dredged up from his childhood.

He surfaced from his animation hypnosis when his phone rang. The number displayed was one that he’d saved under ‘StB patient phone.’

“ _Dean?_ ”

“Heya Sammy. How’s it goin’?”

Sam shifted the phone to his other ear, annoyed. “What do you mean ‘how’s it going?’ What’s going on with _you_?”

“Well... I might be getting out of here today.”

Sam sighed. “Finally. Oh my god if they’d tried to keep you another day...”

“Yeah, I know, you’d’ve gone to bat for me. I appreciate that, Sam.”

“Well... sure. You know I’d do anything for you,” he answered, trailing off.

“Yeah, yeah, okay Samantha,” Dean said, brushing off Sam’s admission even though he’d been the one who’d prompted it. “So, uh, I’m still kind of under the weather... I was thinking I’d go back to Cas’ place for a day or two.”

Sam glanced around the room. That was weird. “To... to Castiel’s place? Dean, are you sure? I mean, he’s an alpha. No matter what he did for you the other night, he’s an alpha that you hardly know and you just said you’re still in--”

“Sam,” Dean interrupted forbiddingly. “Look, I’ve got to talk to you, and I don’t want to do it over the phone. I want you to come over later. To Cas’ apartment.”

“Dean, I can come get you at the shelter. It’s why I’m here! And it’s not like I’ve never seen you in heat before.”

Sam could practically hear Dean cringe at that. “I trust Cas,” said Dean. “I trust him with my life and my honor,” he added with a laugh. “Look, there’s just a lot of things I have to do. Fill out with police reports, go over mug shots, have an official interview at the police station, that kind of thing. Hell, I even have to meet with a team from the FBI. It would be easier to coordinate all that stuff from Cas’ place, is all. He’ll be, like, my spirit guide or something.”

Sam was at a loss. “Okay, I’ll come over. What time?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know when they’ll let me out of here but I’ll call you soon as I do.”

“Okay. Okay, fine. Hear from you soon.”

“You know it.”

Sam turned in place, looking around aimlessly. Dean was going to stay for a night or more with a strange alpha? While still in the tail end of his heat? That was ten kinds of crazy.

He tried not to feel hurt. He was Dean’s brother, he had dropped everything to come get him, and Dean was going to have a sleepover with his new friend instead of coming back to the motel with Sam? Instead of getting ready to go home? That... that kind of sucked.

There was an explanation for Dean’s strange decision, though. It was logical, but unbelievable. He and Jess had even spitballed it when they Skyped the other night.

What if Castiel was Dean’s mate?

Sam huffed in the silence of his motel room, looking for confirmation from the faded cowboy paintings on the wall.

Dean hadn’t mentioned anything like a scent mating when Sam had been by to visit, but then that was just like Dean to keep something like that a secret, at least for a while. Until he’d figured out what Castiel meant in his life.

A coldness settled on Sam’s shoulders and he rolled them impatiently. His dream of a cross-country homecoming road trip with his long-lost brother began to dissipate like fog in sunlight. His worst fear was becoming a distinct possibility.

If Castiel was Dean’s mate, then would Dean come back to Kansas at all?

Sam turned the volume up on the cartoon and tried to go to back to sleep.

 

 

“I’m sorry it was pink,” Castiel said uneasily, as Dean rinsed the knot off in the sink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said offhandedly, trying to sound casual to offset his nervousness. “It’s really hard to find small ones in anything other than pink or purple. My first one was silver with glitter and red swirls. I called it The Terminator. It was about that size, too.”

Castiel snorted in spite of himself. Awkward morning tension, gone.

Dean swiped the back of his neck and his chest with a wet hand as another hot swell rose from his belly, causing his hole to clench emptily. But this time it came and went, just leaving him warm and flushed. Cas stood behind him, his chest to Dean’s back, and rubbed his hands up and down Dean’s arms and shoulders. It was nearly over.

There was little else for Dean to take back to his room. He didn’t use the pads or the ridiculous underwear that Anna had brought him, so he left everything on the bedside table. He’d changed into the clean pair of pajama pants, presuming that his jeans and the extra shirt were in the bookcase by his old bed.

It was strange to think of the other room as _his room_ , but he almost looked forward to seeing it again. He wanted to take a shower. He wanted to wear shoes.

As he walked tall back to his room, he had to pass the television lounge, where several residents sat sleepily, either watching tv or staring out the wide windows into the patio behind them.

Millie saw him and gave him a happy wave, which he returned stiffly.

Benny came out of a room and held out his hand to Dean.

“You made it, brother,” he said, shaking hands and grinning conspiratorially. “What’s the plan? You getting out of here?”

“Maybe,” Dean said cautiously. “I still have to impress the doctors and show them that I’m...” he looked around, abashed. He’d almost said, ‘not crazy.’ He settled for, “I have to convince them that I’m... fine.”

“Right on,” answered Benny.

“Um, I’m gonna go shower,” Dean told him uncertainly. He still didn’t know if he could just do whatever he wanted. Maybe there was a designated shower hour?

“Well,” Benny drawled, “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but that sounds like a good idea.” He winked at Dean and motioned for him to follow behind as he went to the linen closet for new towels.

Cas wandered beside Dean, seeming a little lost, drawing close and then edging away again.

Dean took two towels and a washcloth gratefully, as well as a new bottle of the all-purpose soap.

Benny sauntered away and sat behind the dayroom desk.

Once back in his room, Dean gave Cas a piercing look. “What are you going to do right now? Meditate some more?”

“I might,” Cas answered challengingly.

Dean grinned and went into the bathroom.

He wasn’t spooked by the over-pressurized shower anymore, and while his skin still felt like it was hot and raw, he scrubbed from his head to his feet thankfully. He needed to shave in the worst way, and as he lathered up his over-long hair he thought that sometime very soon he needed to fit in a haircut. He cut the shower short when his stomach growled.

He’d been subsisting on protein bars and water for a good three days. The return of his appetite was a good sign. And he didn’t know when Cas had last eaten.

He dried quickly and dressed. Jeans, tee shirt, canvas shoes. He almost felt human.

Cas was sitting at Dean’s desk, ankle on his knee. Dean had no idea what Cas had been doing while he was in the shower, but he seemed as calm and zen as before. Being mere feet away from his naked, wet, sudsy mate hadn’t had much of an effect on him, not that Dean could tell, at any rate. What really went on behind that stony facade, anyway?

“Are you hungry?” Cas asked simply, as though he’d been able to hear Dean’s stomach over the roar of the shower.

“Oh yeah,” he replied, folding his other pants and placing them in the bookcase.

“I think everyone left for breakfast, if you’d like to go,” Cas said diffidently.

Dean bumped Cas’ shoulder, earning a self-effacing smile in return.

 

 

Once they’d finished breakfast and returned to Dean’s room, he gathered up his damp towels and folded them on the desk. He fiddled with the little pile of toiletries, and figured they couldn’t be used by anyone else. He had nothing but the jeans he’d worn in, so he placed the items in the flimsy paper bag with the knot Cas had brought him.

“Let’s go,” Dean said, twitching his head toward the door.

Cas gathered up his own bag, sniffing it once and holding it tightly under one arm.

Dean smiled. He never switched off, did he?

In the day room, Dean approached Benny sheepishly.

“What can I do you for?” Benny asked amicably.

“Hey, man, can I keep the shoes? And the shirt? I don’t have anything else to wear...”

“Absolutely. We don’t ask for the shoes back, anyway. And the shirt? Just take care of yourself and we’ll call it even, a’right?”

Dean nodded gratefully.

“You’re ready to get out of here, huh?” he asked, looking pointedly at the bag in Dean’s hand.

“Yeah. No offense, you guys have been great...” He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like a total ass.

“I hear ya, there’s no place like home, am I right?”

Dean laughed in spite of his ill humor.

“What’s funny?”

“Dude, I’m from Kansas.”

“No shit? I bet you get tired of hearing that, huh?”

“Not anymore.”

Benny turned to Cas and asked, “Know who you’re waitin’ on?”

“No clue,” Dean answered, a little assertively, inserting himself back into the conversation.

“Take a load off,” Benny said, nodding toward the telelvision where a police procedural was airing. “We’re watching some show about people doing awful things to one another.”

“Is that okay here? I mean...?” He looked around at the other residents sitting in the day room, wondering if any of them should be watching television at all.

“I could put it on the Hallmark channel,” Benny said with a smirk.

“No, we’re good.”

Dean and Cas sat in the back, shoulder to shoulder. Cas put his arm over the armrest, elbow pressing into Dean’s side.

“Dude, personal space?”

Cas nearly pulled away, eyes wide, when Dean grabbed his hand and drew him back in. “I’m just kidding. You’re going to have to get used to that.”

Cas smiled and said, “We have a lot to learn about one another.”

Dean cringed inside. Cas might not like what he found once they had to do more than bone and make small talk.

They hadn’t been watching long enough to figure out what awful thing had been done to whom before Dr. McWhorter clicked down the hallway, Dr. Shurley shuffling along behind her. She keyed into the doctor’s interview room, and Dr. Shurley motioned for Dean to join them.

Cas gave Dean’s hand a quick squeeze.

Dean blew out a breath and smiled quickly at Dr. Shurley, who held the door for him.

Dean sat in the same chair as he had days ago, opposite Dr. McWhorter, and Dr. Shurley closed the door behind them and leaned against the doorframe. Dean took a deep breath and tried not to let his knee bounce.

“Mr. Winchester,” she began detachedly, “we’re here to try to determine whether or not you are competent to be discharged from a mental and behavioral health facility. If we feel that we need to hold you for an additional amount of time, there will be a formal hearing and a court will have to agree to a lengthened stay. Do you understand your rights?”

Dean’s temper threatened to flare, but knew better than to antagonize the doctor. He glanced at Dr. Shurley before answering, “I understand.”

“Good. We haven’t had a chance to evaluate you day to day, as most of your stay here has been taken up by an unexpected heat.”

The crisp way she enunciated that last word made Dean flinch a little. Then he realized what she might be implying.

Could they justify keeping him here by saying that the last three days didn’t count because he was genuinely out of his mind? His heart beat a little harder.  
“That’s not my fault,” he said stonily.

“True,” replied McWhorter. “You handled it as well as could be expected, and your demeanor these last few hours has been noted. How are you feeling?” She steepled her hands under her chin and stared at him, waiting primly for an answer.

Dean hesitated at the open-ended question. “I’m anxious to get out of here,” he replied, wincing when he realized that his answer could be misconstrued. He didn’t want them to think he was still having any problems.

The doctor’s lips thinned, and Shurley stood up just a little straighter.

Dammit, he hadn’t intended to start a confrontation, either.

“Are you having any thoughts that something might be following you? That people are harboring grudges against you? That they can read your mind?”

“What? Like paranoia? No.”

“Any feelings of rage or undirected anger?”

Dean tried not to shift in his seat. “Nope.”

“Do you want to hurt yourself or are you having thoughts of that nature?”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Where are you going to go if you are discharged today, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean didn’t have a ready answer. She was Castiel’s colleague. He didn’t know if it would be appropriate to discuss his intentions to stay over at Cas’ place with her.

Dr. Shurley cut in. “What we need to know, Dean, is whether or not you have a safe place to stay for the next few days. We wouldn’t delay your discharge, but you would be free to go to the other side of St. Brigid’s and stay here until you get your feet back under you.”

Dean blinked. “No, I uh, I have a place to go. My brother’s here, so...”

It was misdirection, not a lie. Not that Dean was above lying to get away, anyhow.

Dr. Shurley nodded and Dr. McWhorter simply scribbled something in Dean’s chart. She wrote something on a prescription pad and ripped it off ferociously, dropping it into the file.

She looked up abruptly and said, “I’m sending you off with a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication. You can take it up to four times a day as needed, at least four hours apart. You have to see a psychiatrist within seven days. Someone will be along with your paperwork and you’ll be free to go.”

“Thanks,” Dean said warily.

Dr. Shurley opened the door behind him and gestured for Dean to go before him.

Dr. McWhorter made no move to leave and continued to make notes in Dean’s file. He’d have to get that before he left. He didn’t like the idea of some kind of permanent record laying around here forever long after he was gone.

Shurley closed the door behind him and walked down the hallway alongside him.

“What are your long-term plans, Dean?”

Dean scoffed. This was none of Shurley’s business. “I’m going home,” he answered.

“Back to Kansas?”

“That’s where home is,” Dean answered tartly.

Shurley stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We can’t really force you to follow up with a psychiatrist, you know, but your anxiety episodes are something you should monitor with a health professional. If you’re not comfortable with that, I at least urge you to find a therapist. It might not be as easy to go home as you think it will be.”

Dean rounded on the shorter man. “I’m going to get in my brother’s car and I’m going to fucking _drive to Kansas._ That’s how easy it will be,” he said in a low growl.

To his surprise, Shurley stepped up into his space.

“You are going to try to leave all of this behind you, but it’s going to follow you like your own shadow. I know what you’ve been through. Castiel knows. We’ve been helping people for years who have been through what you’ve endured for the last four months. Sure, you’re the first we’ve seen from a fighting operation, but a lot of the experiences you’ve had? You’re not the first. You’re going to need someone to help you unpack this, Dean. I can refer you to a few people in Kansas City. I think I know someone who has a private practice who teaches at KU in Lawrence. Take the help, Dean. You think you won’t need it, but you do.”

Dean stared at Dr. Shurley for a long moment.

“Are you done?”

Shurley’s shoulders drooped. He held out a hand. “If I don’t see you before you leave, I want you to know that I wish you the best, Dean. Godspeed.”

Dean shook his hand briefly, turned on his heel, and walked back to the day room.

More waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I shamelessly ripped a line out of Hot Fuzz and I'm proud of it.  
> So, it was bound to happen. I got da writer's block. For some reason it's been hard for me to bring this half of the fic to a close and get Dean and Cas on the other side of the shelter doors...


	19. EXEUNT

Castiel could tell Dean was upset even before he could scent him.

“What happened?” he asked, suspecting that if Dean had been told he’d have to stay for a hearing he wouldn’t be half as calm as he was.

“I’m supposed to wait on some damn paperwork.” He sat down with a huff.

Cas leaned against his arm, offering his silent comradeship.

“So what did I miss?” he asked, nodding at the television.

Castiel filled him in quickly, and began to explain to Dean what he had extrapolated about the conclusion of the episode.

“Hey, dude, don’t tell me how it’s going to end,” Dean whispered into Cas’ ear.

Cas abruptly sat up straighter, the tickle at the back of his ear sending a signal straight down his spine to the base of his groin.

Dean smirked, apparently pleased with the effect he had on Cas-- then he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Cas was reminded by Dean’s scent that he wasn’t quite out of heat yet, and took his hand. Dean gripped back, palm and fingers warm. If they’d been able to mate, it would have ended much more quickly, but at least they’d managed to get Dean over the apex.

Castiel breathed shallowly, barely taking in air, trying not to let the scent of his mate affect him. He was sitting in a room full of omegas, and couldn’t afford to let his arousal get away from him.

Dean shifted in his seat, swearing to himself. The smell of his slick pervaded the air around him.

“Are you sure you want to go with me?” Cas asked. He was nervous. Being with Dean here, in the clinical sterility of the shelter was one thing. Having to share space with him in his own home made him tense.

Dean sensed it. “You okay with me coming home with you? I can go with Sam. I just... we’ve been apart for days now. I just want some time alone with you.”

“I know, I feel the same way. But you’re still in heat...”

“You think I can’t restrain myself? Of that you’ll lose control and ravish me?” Dean’s eyes were playful, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness under his words.

Cas sighed. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

Dean leaned in against Cas’ cheek again, and breathed softly into the shell of his ear.

“I don’t either. Not at all,” he said. “I think we both know exactly what is going to happen tonight.”

 

 

Dean tried not to be interested in the crime drama unfurling inch by inch in front of him, but was drawn in despite himself. He didn’t realize anyone new had entered the day room until a soft, deep voice was calling his name.

He looked over, a little surprised, at a very tall blonde-haired man in a grey hoodie with a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.

“That’s me,” Dean said, rising uncertainly.

The man held out a hand indicating that Dean should go ahead of him down the hall. “We’re going to go into the therapy room for just a minute.”

Once in the smaller room, the newcomer closed the door and introduced himself. “Dean, my name is Gadreel and I’m your case worker. I’m sorry we haven’t met before today, but I’m going to go over all your paperwork and we’ll make sure you’re ready to get out of here.”

Dean eyed the closed door but forced himself to relax. The man was slightly taller than Dean, but was reassuringly beta. Dean liked his friendly demeanor and soothing mannerisms immediately.

He and Dean sat down at a table, and Gadreel talked him through some forms, most of which were reiterations of what he’d gone over with Dr. McWhorter-- that he was cognizant of his release, that he would take responsibility for his own mental health and seek out a professional within a week. He wasn’t sure about that one, but he signed on the line anyway.

Gadreel handed Dean pink copies of everything to be placed in his own shiny white folder, including some pamphlets that Dean really didn’t so much as glance at.

Gadreel flipped through the guts of his file quickly, locating the prescription slip.

Before he could say anything else, Dean cut in.

“Can I have that?” he asked her, pointing to the file folder.

“I can make you a copy,” Gadreel offered imperturbably.

“No, I want the actual file. You guys don’t need it.”

“We have to hang onto it for liability purposes, but you’re entitled to a copy of it. I’ll be right back,” he said before Dean could protest, and headed out the door.

Dean sighed. He didn’t want a copy. He wanted the actual file.

Gadreel returned fairly quickly with a small stack of papers in one hand. He slid the file folder into his bag.

For an instant, Dean considered resisting. He wanted to put up a fight-- no he wanted to pitch an absolute fit over the file. They really had no right to keep it-- they’d had no right to keep _him_.

“Look, man,” Dean said, “I don’t want to cause any trouble, but you guys really don’t need that file.”

Gadreel leaned in and looked at him for a long moment. “What’s bothering you, Dean?”

Dean was taken aback. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What troubles you so much about leaving this file here? It won’t ever leave this building and the contents are completely confidential. But I get it, you want to erase the evidence that you were ever here, am I right?”

Dean was startled by the case worker’s insight. Because that was exactly the reason Dean wanted that folder. The less evidence of his time in St. Brigid’s, of his time _away_ , the better.

Gadreel smiled sympathetically. “I understand. But we keep the original file. I copied every bit of it for you, so you’ll know exactly what’s in it. I have to ask you seriously, now, do you feel like you’re going into a safe environment when you leave here?”

Dean sat back. The same question that Dr. McWhorter had asked him, but he got the feeling that this Gadreel guy cared a little more than she did.

“I do. I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt you can,” Gadreel said, smiling good-naturedly, “but I’d like to be certain that you won’t have to for a while.”

Dean shifted nervously, uncomfortable with Gadreel’s frank concern. “It’s fine. I’m meeting my brother later.”

“Okay, good. So there’s your discharge slip, your copy of your file, your prescription... and I’ve gone ahead and put some literature in there for you, some things I thought you might find helpful. There’s a note in your intake form that you have something at the reception desk, something that’s not allowed back here..”

That gave Dean pause. What could they possibly have of his that he couldn’t have back in the room? He didn’t have a belt or shoes-- all he’d had for weeks was a pair of jeans and, when he wasn’t fighting, an old tee shirt.

“What is it?”

“It just says ‘personal effect.’ Sorry. But that’s about it,” Gadreel continued. “Is your brother picking you up later?”

“I’m actually going to go with Cas right now...” Dean said vaguely.

“Oh, you mean Dr. Novak? That’s good. He’s a great guy. Listen, if there’s anything else you need, my card is in there, too. Something comes up, you can call me, okay?” He held out his hand, and Dean took it gratefully. Not everyone here was a douchenozzle after all.

They left the therapy room together, but turned in opposite directions.

Benny saw Dean approach and held out a hand. “Brother, you take care out there, you hear me?”

Dean shook his hand. “Thanks for everything, man,” he said softly.

“Wasn’t nothing,” Benny said, taking Rob aside to go over some notes on a clipboard.

Anna was walking briskly past, and put a hand on his shoulder quickly. “Take care, Dean,” she said, and continued walking.

And that was that.

He stood awkwardly in front of the desk, then turned back to Cas, who looked up at him with a cocked head and furrowed brows.

“Wanna get out of here?” Dean asked him

Cas smiled and put an arm around Dean’s waist.

They walked hip to hip to the double-doors at the end of the hall, and Cas pulled his keycard out of his back pocket and swiped the lock open.

Dean had only glimpsed the rest of the shelter through the square windows, and he was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of omega that permeated the building. It was an order of magnitude higher than in the wing he was leaving. He stopped with his hand on Cas’ arm.

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

“It’s just... so many omegas... in one place. It’s... weird.” He rolled his folder into a scroll and twisted it in his hands.  
Cas shrugged. “You’ve never been to an omega shelter before.”

Dean shook his head.

“It’s a nice place, actually. Not as far-reaching as the Salvation Army-- it’s pretty much this one location and some outreach centers. Are you... are you ready to leave?”

“Fuck yeah,” Dean answered, taking Cas’ hand and heading through a set of glass doors that seemed to lead to a waiting area.

He noticed the reception desk to the right. “Hold up, that case worker said there was something for me out here.”

Cas nodded and followed Dean to the desk. The reception area was staffed by a gangly older man with a yellowing paperback open on the counter in front of him.

“Hey, someone said you guys might have some stuff for me?”

“Your name?” asked the desk attendant, dogearing his page and looking up slowly.

“Dean Winchester.”

The man ducked down under his counter and, after a moment of shifting around whatever was under there, pulled a paper bag out of a cabinet and pushed it across the desk without giving Dean a second glance.

Goddamn if Dean wouldn’t be happy to see the last of those brown bags.

The bag had a white label on it.

 _Winchester, Dean_.

He picked it up uncertainly.

Whatever was in the bag had some heft to it. Dean unrolled the top as he turned away from the desk and peeked in.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, crumpling the bag and clutching it to his stomach.

He tried to breathe. If he could take a breath, then maybe the smothering panic wouldn’t crash down on him. Maybe he’d be okay this time, if he could just get his lungs to work.

“What?” asked Cas, concerned, stepping towards him protectively.

Dean couldn’t answer.

It lay coiled at the bottom of the bag, almost innocuously, smelling of leather and sweat and sending off the sharp tang of submission.

His collar.

Hands spasming into fists, he held the bag out for Castiel to see.

Cas glanced down in the bag and pulled it out of Dean’s grasp, growling.

Dean bent in half. “Did you-- did you see this on me?” he asked, gasping, searching Castiel’s face. He put one hand over the rough skin at the base of his throat.

What would he do if he had? What would he think of him? He hoped Cas hadn’t seen it, hadn’t seen the symbol of his humiliation and ruin.

They’d put him in a collar. They’d _owned_ him.

Cas nodded reluctantly. “I did. I saw it.”

Dean clenched his jaw and sucked in a long breath through his nose. If he could breathe in, he was okay. If he could breathe, he was fine. If he could just catch a breath, goddammit...

“How did I let it all get so bad?” he asked hoarsely, turning away from Cas. “Why didn’t I just make them kill me instead? I saw them drown a man, Cas. Why did I fight for them? I beat men bloody, I nearly killed some of them. Why...?” He ran out of air.

Castiel pulled Dean in by his shoulders. Clasped him, as he heaved for oxygen, to his chest.

“Because you’re a survivor, Dean,” he said gruffly. “That’s what I saw in you, when you were being sucked under by the tranquilizers. You were fighting it, you were fighting to stay with me.”

“I’m an animal.”

“You’re not.”

Dean struggled to steady his breathing.

Cas held him until he had stopped gulping air.

“You won, Dean. You can go. Let’s go. Let’s go, love,” murmured Cas into his temple.

Dean straightened up slowly. He pulled in a deep breath, a whole breath.

He was through. He was done. He could go, now.

Cas led him to the front door with his arm over Dean’s shoulder. As they were leaving, Dean grabbed the bag from Cas’ hand and reached over to shove it deep into a trash can.

He was through.

Outside, he quailed a little at the sounds of the city-- the susseration of traffic, the distant hiss of an airplane, and the sibilant undercurrent of open air against cement.

It was bright morning, still humid as the dew settled on the iron railings and the weeds, and he blinked against the bright sky.

Castiel held him close with an arm around his waist. Dean leaned into his sturdy warmth. He drew in Cas' clean, riverside scent, felt it brace him, revelled in the way it helped shore him up against whatever was to come next.

They walked down the concrete steps together.

He was through.

He could go home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this fic so far-- I appreciate each and every one of you so so so much!  
> I broke 50k. Wow. This is by far the largest and most involved work of fiction I've ever endeavored (I never thought it would get so big, actually,) and I'm learning so much about harnessing inspiration... and fabricating it when it just don't wanna come. With that said, I've been struggling with writer's block and I'm having a hard time deciding whether or not I've busted it or just managed to smuggle a couple of chapters through the barricades.  
> All the kudos and comments that this story has garnered get me moving and I'd like to take this moment, in the intermission before act two, to thank everyone who has left k&c so far for helping me keep going when the words want to dry up and disappear. Thank you all.


	20. QUID PRO QUO

Cas and Dean walked shoulder-to-shoulder down the block. Dean felt his spirit unfurl like a sail in the open air. He waded through the chemical smell of the traffic, inhaled the arid tang of the concrete sidewalk, leaned away from the susseration of passing cars, and nearly floundered under the murmurs of conversations that drifted through doors as they opened and closed. The blazing white-blue sun of the late-morning sky above blistered his skin.

They came to a cross-street, and as they waited outside a place calling itself The Jerk Hut the aroma of jerked chicken and fresh plantains wound around him, and again he found himself craving a real meal. Something made with his own hands. He wanted to smash a clove of garlic, to sear a slab of meat, to slather bread with butter.

Suddenly an image rose unbidden of frightened faces over foil bags, and then he was thinking again of Tina and Shane, and their “meal” of vending machine potato chips. He scuffed his feet restively as they waited for the signal to change, trying to subdue the memory.

At the next intersection, Cas turned right and walked another half a block to a parking structure. They ducked into the stairwell, which smelled like damp cement and urine and sweat, and Cas jogged up the steps just ahead of Dean.

Once they reached the parking deck, Dean was assaulted by a miasma of motor oil and tires and hot engines, and was once again homesick. He missed his garage. He missed coming back from work smelling like brake dust. He missed having a purpose that wasn’t pummeling another man into a bloody pulp.

He knew was finally on his way home... except he also wasn’t.

Cas led Dean down one row to a twenty-year-old Camry.

Dean balked. “You drive a pink car?”

Cas cocked his head. “It’s red. It just looks pink because the paint is faded.”

Dean stared at him over the blistered roof of the Toyota.

Cas stared back, cocked an eyebrow, and thumbed the keyfob challengingly. The short chirp echoed off of metal and concrete.

Dean broke first, opening the door and sliding in.

The interior of the car smelled like Cas, and Dean felt dizzy for a moment. The hollow, reedy aura of the river and the creaky scent of old leather surrounded him, mixed with the unique smell of old car, and he clenched his teeth against a sudden upwelling of relief. Being immersed in Cas’ smell made him dizzy and he felt the skin of his neck prickle.

Cas settled into the driver’s side, and instead of buckling in and starting the car, he waited wordlessly for an unknown cue from Dean.

After a minute or so of silence passed, Cas said, “We can go straight to my apartment. You’re not ready to deal with the police and FBI yet.” He said this hesitantly, regretfully even, as though he hoped Dean would contradict him.

Dean sighed. His thoughts were still scattered and he was distracted by an eddy of arousal. “What do I have to do again?”

“You’ll be interviewed by the investigators on the task force that have been tracking the omega trafficking activity in the city, then probably go over much the same with the FBI. At some point...” Cas hesitated. “At some point, we’ll want you to go to our partner clinic to have photos and x-rays taken of your injuries. It would all be saved against the day that anything ever goes to court. Dean, neither I nor anyone else can compel you to give testimony or provide information you don’t want to share.” Cas tilted his head entreatingly. “But your knowledge of the workings of Alistair’s operation, your ability to provide descriptions of accomplices, to possibly pinpoint past locations... It would... it would just be invaluable.” Again there was an indefinable sadness in his voice. “And of course, the alpha who was fighting you will be brought up on charges. You should tell the police everything you can remember to ensure that he sees jail time.”

Dean was silent as he shucked off his manufactured indifference. While he’d told Chuck that his first priority was just to get home, he knew that would be tucking his tail in and running off to hide.

He didn’t need to be coddled, and he was being cowardly by even entertaining the impulse to just go back to his normal life as though nothing had happened. He owed Tina and Shane and... and JP... everything he could give. Especially since Tina and Shane were still with Alistair.

Any further delay could get them killed.

Castiel shifted and started the car. “We’ll go to my apartment. They can wait a few more days--”

“I’ll go,” said Dean quietly. “I’ll go talk to the cops and feds and... whoever else.”

“I should agree with you,” said Cas tightly, “but I’ve lost all objectivity. I just want you home and safe.”

“No, let’s go,” said Dean, letting the remark about ‘home’ slide. “Let’s go down to the police station or whatever it is and let me talk to your investigators. There’s something I have to do for someone, anyway.” He thought of JP again, and his stomach clenched.

Cas put the car back in park and dialed a number on his phone.

“Captain Raphael Stengel, please-- this is Castiel Novak. Yes, I’ll hold.”

Dean closed his eyes and tuned out the conversation, trying to let go of the near-panic and white-hot frustration balled in his gut. He was surprised when Cas ended the call and started the car.

He admired the angular jut of Cas’ jaw as he turned to look over his shoulder while backing out of the parking space. The dregs of his heat were still circling the drain, and he felt warmth pooling in his crotch.

He could have done much worse in a mate, he supposed. In fact, he couldn’t imagine any other person doing anything for him anymore. Weird.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Dean asked. “I should call my brother, tell him what’s going on.”

“Of course,” Castiel said, and thumbed in the password before handing it over to Dean. It only rang once.

“ _Hello? Dr. Novak?_ ”

“Sam, it’s me. I’m out.”

He heard Sam’s grateful sigh from the other end of the line. “ _So what next?_ ”

“Well, I’m uh, I’m with Cas-- I’m going to take care of some business at the city precinct. Gotta go over mug shots, things like that. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“I _can meet you there-- do you have an address? Or just tell me what precinct you’re going to and I can Google it._ ”

Dean hesitated. He didn’t need his brother to nanny him all day. It was bad enough that Cas would be following him around, waiting for any opportunity to play the protective alpha.

“ _I mean, if you want me there. Do you... I mean, should I be there, or...?_ ”

Dean winced at his brother’s tone-- he sounded hurt, almost, and Dean immediately felt bad about trying to keep him at arm’s length. Because when all was said and done, he missed Sammy. Not so many days ago he thought he’d never see him again, and Sam had come halfway across the country to bring him home.

“I could...” He hesitated. “I could use you around. At the clinic thing. I think the police debriefing could take a while. I’d hate to make you sit on your thumbs at some police station in a city like this.”

Another relieved breath. “ _Okay. Just call me when you’re on your way, and I’ll meet you._ ”

“Thanks, Sammy. See you soon.”

He handed the phone back to Cas, who merely dropped it into the center console. In the same gesture, he placed a hand on Dean’s thigh briefly. He pulled away shyly, as though worried that he’d pushed a boundary. Dean wondered about that. After what they’d done at St. Brigid’s, they were suddenly uncomfortable with each other. He watched Castiel out of the corner of his eye, but the man had shut down and was navigating traffic with robotic efficiency.

They were both quiet as they drove away in the scalding sunlight.

 

No sooner did Castiel have the car parked, Dean was out the door and striding purposefully toward the Fourth Precinct building.

Cas caught up, meaning to hold the front door for Dean, who instead jerked it open and entered first, holding the door for Cas behind him. Cas could tell he was anxious, though, he could scent it, even through the mingled smells of anxiety and anger that assaulted them at the entrance. Dean looked around warily, and Cas felt an urge to grasp Dean’s shoulder, to put a hand on the small of his back, to do something to comfort and encourage him, but he bit it back. He knew it wouldn’t be appreciated here, if anywhere.

Dean made a beeline for the front desk.

“May I help you?” said the officer on duty, frowning through inch-thick safety glass at what he perceived as a forward and clearly unsettled omega.

Dean leaned into the speaker. “My name’s Dean Winchester and I’m here to give a statement.”

The officer’s eyes widened and he glanced at Castiel before picking up a phone and dialing an extension, murmuring into the receiver. “Go on back,” she said, pressing a button that unlocked the door next to her with a long buzz.

Castiel did manage to hold the heavy door this time, and Dean hesitated just beyond.

Two alphas, one in a police uniform and the other in an expensive suit, were approaching them through the maze of counters and cubicles. Castiel felt Dean take a metered breath, drawing himself up in an alpha-like posture.

Captain Stengel started to introduce himself to Dean, but was cut off by the second man. Cas caught a fleeting expression of resentment on the captain’s face.

“Dean, I’m Agent Victor Henriksen, FBI. Thank you for meeting with us today.”

Dean shook his hand, then Stengel’s after the police captain finally got to his introduction.

He saw Rachael standing beyond them, arms crossed. She moved forward to greet Dean. “Mr. Winchester, good to see you again. I’ll be representing Seaboard Omega Support Network.”

Castiel noticed that Rachael hadn’t said ‘we represent.’ Had his accidental mating affected his standing with the network already? It wasn’t as though he’d claimed Dean like a lust-crazy knothead. They were truemates. His colleagues at SOS Net should understand...

“Let’s go to our briefing room and get started. We’ve been waiting to talk to you,” said Stengel, a chastening note in his voice.

Dean stiffened, but followed Stengel and Henriksen into the bowels of the precinct office.

 

Dean was led to a conference room, with a long table and several people standing around, lining the walls. He’d imagined this little confab taking place in an interrogation room, although the realization that he was going to be interviewed in this conference room hardly helped him relax. There were a few other officers there, some in suits-- probably either detectives or more FBI agents like Henriksen. They were overwhelmingly alpha, and he hoped against hope that he wouldn’t have a repeat of the strange panic attacks he’d been having lately.

“Have a seat,” Captain Stengel said, pulling out a chair on the far side of the table. Dean felt like he was being put on display, like he was there to entertain the assembled law enforcement personnel, and his gut churned just like it did whenever he entered a fight ring.

As though sensing his thoughts, Rachael spoke up. “Are all of these people necessary? Can we limit this to essential personnel only?”

With expressions of chagrin, a handful of uniforms and suits straightened up and filed out the door.

Henricksen sat down right next to him on one side, and the police captain took the chair on his other side. Dean noticed that Castiel pulled a chair aside and sat behind him. His partner Rachael leaned against the wall next to Cas. There was one dark-skinned officer who glared at him balefully and a woman and two men in suits left in the room with them.

There were no more introductions. Dean was there to provide information, nothing more. He tried to calm himself.

“Let’s start out with the night we busted that fight ring. You recognize any of these men?”

Stengel spread four mug shots out in front of him. Dean studied them, analyzing each face carefully. They all looked vaguely the same-- thick-necked, bald-shaven, scowling alphas with staved-in noses and swollen ears. Since they all looked similar, they all looked equally familiar. Dean’s stomach sank.

“One of these faces ring a bell?” Henriksen prompted intently.

Dean swallowed thickly. Two of the alphas had obvious bruises on their faces-- one even had an eye that was nearly swollen shut. Dean didn’t remember, but he’d bet he landed a few good punches before the night went cock-eyed. One of those two bastards was probably the alpha he’d been fighting. So basically that gave him a fifty-fifty chance of picking out his guy. It also meant he had a good chance of choosing the wrong one. What would happen then? Would the alpha who’d paid to fight him just walk?

“What happens if I can’t ID him?” Dean asked hoarsely.

Henriksen looked at Dean closely. “You can’t finger the guy you were fighting?”

“I don’t remember much. What I do remember is... like a nightmare.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Castiel shift and Stengel glanced around the room, then back to the mug shots contritely.

Wait, was the guy who tranqued him in this room?

“Who shot me?” asked Dean, feeling suddenly dizzy, looking at the faces surrounding him. No one met his eye, including the police officer who had been staring daggers at him a moment earlier. “Whoever shot me should get reamed. I don’t remember anything because I was pumped so full of shit that I didn’t know my own name when I came to.” He clenched the edge of the table angrily. “If this guy gets off, it’s their fault, not mine!”

He felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder and shook it off angrily. He caught Cas’ scent among all the others, though, and it calmed him despite himself.

“Can you give it one more shot? Or maybe you remember something else, a tattoo or a scar maybe?” prompted Captain Stengel.

Dean stared at the pictures in front of him. He shook his head. It would probably be better for the case if he didn’t even try. “I don’t know. They all look the same.”

“Okay,” said the captain, sweeping up the photographs. “There are plenty of other witnesses. Those guys couldn’t turn on each other fast enough. DA will have to make do.”

Dean, seething, surveyed the room again. Every alpha there looked away when he tried to meet their gaze. Were they feeling guilty over the tranq incident, or were they just uncomfortable in the presence of an omega who was as unstable as he was?

“Let’s move on,” said Agent Henriksen. “We need to know everything you can tell us about Alistair and his fighting operation. Both Captain Stengel and I have lots of questions for you--”

“Look, there’s something you need to do for me, first,” growled Dean.

Henriksen shifted, and Dean wondered if he’d been expecting docile acquiescence from him. Why would they be surprised, though? He was a horrible excuse for an omega, clearly.

“What is that?” Stengel asked tightly.

“I need to know if you have a file for a missing person. Just went by ‘JP’ and I don’t know his last name. Mid thirties, probably gone missing about four months maybe. Said he was picked up in Oregon.”

“We can search the national database. Not much to go on, but we’ll see what we can do.” Stengel jerked his head toward a detective, who slipped out of the room quietly. “You think you can ID the other omegas?”

“I can try,” Dean answered.

“Fine. We’ll get to that. You tell us about Alistair while we wait.”

They began with Dean’s own abduction-- how many guys took him down, the ruse they used to get to him, what kind of van they were driving. Then they asked him about what cities they’d been through, and Dean answered as best he could. He didn’t always know where they were. Henriksen was most concerned with this information and asked questions about everything, as the FBI needed as much proof as they could get that the organization crossed state lines.

They gave him more mug shots and some pictures that were obviously surveillance photographs, and from these he was able to single out some folks. He put names to one face after after another-- trainers, refs, lumpers, and a handful of guys who seemed to be in charge, even though he was pretty sure he only knew nicknames. He singled out Alistair, who was standing in front of a blonde woman with her back to the camera-- a wave of nausea washed over him. What if that woman was Lilith? He’d never seen her, but Alistair and his cronies talked about her often, usually as a threat-- if they disappointed Lilith, they would suffer the consequences. It was a thinly veiled way of saying they’d end up a floater or rotting in a shallow grave somewhere.

They took a break after what felt like a couple of hours. Cas brought Dean a can of Sprite and a package of crackers, and they soon got right back to it.

After a while, there was a knock on the door and the detective who’d left earlier came back in.

“Captain? I’ve got two missing persons matching the omega’s description.”

The detective handed Stengel two pieces of paper. Stengel looked them over and handed them to Dean.

Dean took them with some trepidation.

He set aside the first picture, dismissing it. It wasn’t the man he was looking for. But he almost didn’t recognize JP, either. The picture was grainy, it was obviously a scan of an old photograph-- JP’s face was highlighted in an oval, the rest of the picture had been darkened around him. He was smiling, holding a beer, leaning against a porch railing with a bunch of other people. Friends? Family? He looked younger, although whether that was a testament to how old the picture was or how hard the fights had been on him was anyone’s guess.

“This is the guy I was talking about,” he said, handing Stengel the report. “He’s dead. Got his melon scrambled by an alpha, started having seizures. Fight runners threw him in the river. He was unconscious... he would have drowned. I don’t know where we were. But JP is dead. You should tell his family.”

“You’re telling me this has just become a murder investigation?” asked Stengel, eying his FBI counterpart.

Everyone in the room shifted. The assembled police officers and detectives and FBI agents knew abstractly that omegas in the fights probably died. They had to have uncovered bodies that showed signs of being brutalized. The findings rarely made the news, but Dean had known about the darker sides of omega trading even before he’d found himself in the midst of it. Despite the denial from politicians and even from the media, all omegas knew about it, stories traveling from one to another for generations.

This was possibly the first time in recent history that they’d had an eyewitness to such a crime.

“I guess I am,” answered Dean. “He was murdered. Investigate the hell out of it.”

“Can you give us the names of some of the others now? Other omegas who might still be missing? We’ll try to match them up to other missing persons,” Henriksen said.

“Yes,” said Dean. “Yes, if you promise to do everything you can to get them out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back. This work will probably still be slow to update over the summer, but I promise I'm still working to finish it :)
> 
> 7/14 I'm horrified to realize that I've mixed up Rachael and Hester. Rachael should have been the SOS Net character, not Hester. Can you blame me though? Hester was basically Rachael 2.0...


	21. ARCHIVES

It was late afternoon by the time that the tandem interview by both Agent Henriksen and Captain Stengel drew to a close.

Castiel admired Dean from his post at Dean’s back. He’d endured hours of grueling interrogation, probing questions that he didn’t so much as flinch beneath.

“I think we’re done for now,” said Henriksen finally, and Stengel and his detectives concurred. If Dean was fatigued, he didn’t let it show, and Castiel was proud of him.

They were hardly finished, though. Castiel had made arrangements at the clinic for Dean to come by today, so they had Seaboard staff at the ready. They would go there next.

“Dean, thank you for your cooperation,” Henriksen said, shaking his hand. “You’ve no doubt helped us immensely. I hope you stay in the city for a few days in case we have any further questions,” he continued, “but I understand if you need to get home as soon as possible. In the meantime we can have officers stationed wherever you’ll be staying until you do leave. I want you to get in contact with my colleague in Kansas City as soon as you’re back in Kansas. Whenever you do get back home, you’ll do well to meet with her.” He handed Dean his card, with a name and number scribbled on the back that Cas couldn’t make out. “She investigates trafficking in Missouri and Kansas and is looking forward to hearing from you.”

Dean pocketed the card with a curt not.

“Am I good? Can I go?”

Stengel nodded, and Dean stood up, clearly stiff and tired.

Castiel wanted to drag him back to his apartment and put him to bed. Or fling him into his bed, he wasn’t sure at this point which it was. Being in such close quarters with Dean and surrounded by other alphas, it had taken every shred of his self-control to keep his composure. He’d nearly lost it when Dean hit a late-breaking wave and needed to have a few minutes alone-- one of the detectives had ducked into the men’s room, evidently affected by Dean’s scent, and Castiel had been last to leave the conference room, glaring at the other alphas with barely constrained belligerence.

Dean headed straight for the restroom, and Castiel stood at attention in the hallway. As the assembled law enforcement personnel dispersed behind him, he was approached by Rachael.

“I’ve called Inias to come be Dean’s advocate at the clinic,” she said tightly.

Castiel nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”  
“All things considered,” she added, “it’s probably a good idea for you to distance yourself for an hour or two.”

Cas was surprised. He apparently hadn’t had as much control over his emotions as he thought. While he wanted to lend Dean emotional support, he was also becoming aware that he was much more likely to pull some kind of an alpha posture should he encounter even the least perceived slight against Dean.

He understood why Rachael was being so gruff with him, although it saddened him. They’d been partners for two years, and had seen seven raids like the one they’d help conduct the other night, and worked on a case-by-case basis with omegas that were fleeing abusive relationships, defecting from a pimp, trying to get free from all kinds of exploitation. He’d crossed a line, getting involved with an omega under their care, even though it had been wholly unwillingly, and Rachael was going to have a hard time getting past that. He wondered if their supervisor Hester felt the same. She’d also not contacted him, when in any other situation his phone should be ready to explode.

“What has Hester said?” Castiel asked.

“Hester said to give you space,” Rachael said with a little heat. “What you did, Castiel, what you’re doing, it’s wrong. The omegas we help have to trust us. You betrayed Dean--”

“This was beyond my control!” spat Castiel, his self-possession finally cracking.

“What are you telling me? That the minute you layed a hand on him you were lost?”

Castiel blew out a breath in frustration. “It was like that, yes. There was nothing I could do. I’ve never felt like this before, I’ve never had something overwhelm me as this bond has. I’m barely keeping it together.”

“ _He_ went into _heat_ because of you,” she said accusatorily.

“I know.” He looked down at his feet, unable to meet Rachael’s glare.

After a long moment, she shook her head and walked past him without another word.

Cas looked up and took a steadying breath. At that moment, Dean came out of the restroom. He smelled of soap and his hair and collar were wet-- he’d obviously been trying to clean up before walking the gauntlet out of the station.

Dean knew immediately that Cas was worked up-- both of their senses were heightened and just as he could read Dean, Dean seemed to be able to pick up on Cas’ emotions even as he struggled to hide them.

“What happened?” Dean looked around suspiciously.

Castiel nearly brushed it off. But he had to be completely honest with his mate. It felt like a compulsion. “I had words with my partner over our truemating. She feels that it has compromised me. That I can’t be trusted to do my job. She’s arranged for you to have an advocate from our organization be present with you at the clinic.”

Dean chewed on that for a moment. “Just because you’re, you know, with me doesn’t mean you can’t be objective with... with other omegas. Right? Wouldn’t it be better... for you to be mated?”

Castiel looked at Dean, at a loss for what to say.

“I mean, this isn’t ever going to happen again. It’s not like you’ve been going around scenting unsuspecting omegas, looking for a mate. This was... this was straight out of left field. It’s... it’s the fucking weirdest thing that’s probably ever going to happen to either of us.”

Cas laughed, and Dean smiled a little.

“And what do I need an advocate for anyway?”

“He’ll just accompany you during the examinations. I know they’ll want photos of your injuries, at the very least. Inias will be present as support and to make sure procedure is followed.”

“What about you?” Dean asked simply.

“I don’t know that I can... remain calm. I’m unstable,” he admitted.

“This isn’t something you can meditate through, huh? I get it. You trust this Inias?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, nodding. “He’s a beta, I don’t feel any threat in leaving you with him.”

Dean made a noise like air being let out of a tire. “You’re jealous.”

Cas just sighed and let that be his answer.

“Well, time’s a-wasting,” said Dean briskly, and he started to lead the way through the warren of desks and counters.

 

Sam was dozing when his phone chirped. It was a text from Novak’s phone, from Dean evidently.

_We’re done. Heading to this so-called clinic. Still wanna come?_

Sam responded, _Of course, if you still want me there._

His reply was an sms attachment for a place called Mid-State Health and Wellness Center.

He grabbed his laptop case and headed out to his rental, feeling a little apprehensive. He could usually stamp out a case of nerves, but now he felt a little jittery again. That seemed to be his default state when it came to his brother. He had to admit to himself that the weeks of Dean’s absence-- of his captivity-- had taken a toll on him.

He’d seen Dean’s bruises, which had shaken him. Of course, he’d seen Dean in the aftermath of high-school scraps and bar fights before, but this was different. Sam couldn’t imagine what Dean had been through, and he’d avoided prejudicing himself by burrowing down Google’s rabbit hole seeking out information.

But Dean was finally getting real medical attention. Sam was still a little consternated that no one had sent him to a hospital that night instead of shuffling him off to an omega shelter. Obviously he’d not suffered a life-threatening injury since he’d survived these last few days, but at least now someone was going to look him over, make sure he wasn’t too busted up.

Sam followed Google’s turn-by-turn tensely, but found himself entering a surprisingly well-heeled part of town.

The clinic that Novak’s organization used for omega referrals was a surprisingly large complex-- more like a small hospital. Sam had expected a shabby little set-up in a strip mall maybe, like most doctors who specialized in omega medicine were relegated to in the Midwest. These guys evidently took their mission seriously and had partnered with a high-class clinic.

He wondered briefly what his brother would be like if they’d grown up somewhere more progressive. Lawrence was okay, being a college town, but the problem was that they hadn’t grown up in Lawrence, they’d just circled around back to it. They’d grown up on the road as their father drifted from place to place, keeping to the Midwest, where omegas were still actively, legislatively oppressed.

He parked and gathered his thoughts. He figured that Dean and Novak had beat him there, and just as he reached the front door, his phone buzzed again.

_Come to radiology._

Sam headed straight for the directory. Radiology was on the first floor, to the left somewhere. He found it easily, and could smell Dean before he opened the door. Again it was so strange and surreal to know his brother was in the room. He’d evidently not had time to apply his usual layer of scentblockers, and Sam sensed a note of anxiety, too.

Dean and Novak sat against the wall, very near a small man who sat opposite them.

Dean played it cool when Sam found them, looking up from a Men’s Health magazine and nodding as Sam sat down next to him.

“Heya Sam,” Dean said coolly. “This is, um, what’s your name again?”

“Inias,” the smaller man said with a smile, holding out his hand. Sam took it uncertainly. “I’m with Seaboard Omega Support Network,” he said by way of explanation.

Sam just nodded and took the seat next to his brother.

“How’d it go at the uh, the police precinct?” Sam asked.

“Fine.”

Sam waited, but that was it. That was the sum total of Dean’s answer. He sat back, openly appraising his brother.

“What?” Dean challenged.

“You look tired, man.”

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to the periodical, flipping pages exaggeratedly. “I’m fine. Just gotta get this part out of the way.”

“What do you want to do after this?” Sam asked, glancing at Novak, who was pointedly giving them as much privacy as he could in the small lobby.

Dean just shrugged and flipped another page. The note of uneasiness grew stronger. Novak shifted and watched Dean, who drew in on himself even more.

“Would you both just stop it?” he finally snapped, whacking his knees with the magazine.

“Sorry,” Sam said, holding his hands up, and he sat back in his chair to wait.

Inias across from him went back to reading something on his phone.

Dean pointedly reopened the magazine.

The question of what they would do once Dean was done at the clinic hung heavy in the air.

 

 

Dean honestly didn’t care why only twenty-eight percent of women truly loved giving oral sex, but he read the article anyway.

“Dean Winchester?” a technician in purple scrubs called from the doorway.

Dean stood up quickly, nervously, looking back at Castiel and his brother.

Cas asked hesitantly, “Do you want us to come?”

“No, man, that’s okay,” Dean said shortly. “Don’t worry about me.”

Castiel stood up immediately. “Listen,” he said, catching Dean’s wrist, “come get me if you need me. For any reason.”

He held Dean’s eyes for a beat longer than was comfortable before letting go of his hand.

“We’ll be right here,” Sam added.

Impulsively, Dean leaned forward and kissed Cas just below the jaw, scenting him quickly, before turning to go.

Cas no longer smelled exactly like the river, his scent was gently morphing into something more uniquely human. He still smelled like home, though, and mate.

Inias was already waiting next to the technician by the entrance to the lab, his expression quizzical. Dean shuffled past him into the corridor beyond.

“Mr. Winchester, we’re going to get some x-rays. If you’ll go right down that hall into the second door on the left. Sir,” she said to Inias, gesturing to a large booth that was screened off by thick glass, “you can wait here.”

Dean stepped into a cool, shadowed room and the technician looked him over cursorily.

“We’re going to do a full body series, so if you can step behind that curtain and strip to your underwear. There’s a gown back there for you.”

Dean ducked behind the curtain and sucked in a deep breath. He’d figured they’d want to check his ribs, maybe his hands since his knuckles and ring finger still ached. But they were going to inventory his... his _everywhere_?

He hesitated to unbutton his shirt. He could say no to all of this. He didn’t have to let them treat his body like it was a piece of evidence.

Except it was.

And they had the alpha who had done this to him in jail, right now, but he might get out if Dean didn’t do this.

His hands started shaking when he tried to unbuckle his belt. He was shivering by the time he’d stripped, and not necessarily from the chill in the room.

He shouldered the gown and twisted in various directions to get it tied up in the back, and stepped around the blowsy curtain into the cold, dark lab.

The technician came in and asked him to step up to a wall with a large metal plate. She put a heavy apron around his waist.

He recognized this, it was how they would x-ray his ribs. At her request he stretched up to grasp the bar over his head, sucking in a sharp breath at the pain.

His side still hurt. He wondered if he’d find out what these x-rays revealed. He knew he had a couple of cracked ribs, but he was curious to know if they could still see where a different series of ribs had been cracked before, a few weeks ago.

What would the archives of his bones reveal? How far back did they reach?

He had to lay on a table as a set of images was made of his head, his back, his pelvis, his legs.

He sat rigidly at a table, hardly breathing under a leaded vest, while radiation was sent streaming past the fine bones of his hands.

“Okay, Mr. Winchester,” the technician said, pulling out the film, “that was the last of it. We’re done,” the technician said, gesturing towards the curtain. Dean twitched it aside enough to burrow through. He started putting his clothes on quickly, hoping they would warm back up soon.

In the hallway, Inias waited placidly. “We’re going to the radiology suite next,” he said, leading Dean down the corridor.

They entered some kind of exam room-- it was dark, too, but one wall was halfway covered in glowing white panels. Inias indicated that Dean should take a seat in the corner of the room, then joined him. After a few minutes, the technician from the x-ray lab started hanging films-- page after page of stark white bones surrounded by phantoms of flesh.

Dean looked around in wonder. He paced along behind her to examine the tracings of his bones displayed in front of him.

He knew generally what everything was. Skull and neck, ribs and spine, hands and feet. There was nothing in or around the bones themselves that proved these pictures were really of him.

These films were the illuminations of a body’s deepest, most basic foundations, but unlike a photograph he couldn’t glance at these x-rays and recognize any part of himself.

He took a step back, surveying all of the films at once. The images were anonymous, impersonal, and yet highly intimate.

And suddenly he saw it.

He didn’t know their scientific names, but the bones of his legs bowed ever so slightly apart at the knees and back towards one another as they tapered to his ankles.

His own bones.

He gazed for a long while at his skull, studying the understructure of his face. His eye sockets, in particular, looked odd and empty, too large, a death stare. His teeth were strung along his jawline like the stumps of old trees, alien and unfamiliar.

He examined the films more closely-- each had his name, sure enough, along the top edge, but he was baffled by the ghostly images. He inspected the x rays of his ribs, especially, but he didn’t know what a crack would even look like.

He glanced at Inias out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t like having the architecture of his body exposed to a stranger like this. It was personal, almost intrusive, but Inias ignored the images and kept tapping away at his phone.

They waited for a very long time. Inias kept his attention mostly to himself, glancing up at Dean every now and again, giving him what was supposed to pass for a reassuring smile. Dean tried not to get anxious, but had nothing to occupy himself with. He should have stolen that magazine from the waiting room.

He wondered if Cas was getting worried. He knew that Sam definitely was. He’d never been overly attached to his phone, but he sure missed it now, and envied Inias’ ability to keep himself distracted.

The radiologist finally entered in a skirl of air and a burst of energy, startling both Dean and Inias-- he was a tall, scarecrowish man, wearing a blue button-down instead of an impersonal white coat.

He held out a thin hand. “Dean? I’m Dr. Sekler, I’m a radiologist here and I’m going to go over your films, and thought I might want to point out a few things to you as we go.”

“Sure,” Dean said, taking a seat.

Inias had put his phone away and scooted a little closer to Dean.

Another doctor, or an assistant of some sort, followed closely and stood obediently by Dr. Sekler’s shoulder, just a little bit behind him, holding a clipboard to her chest.

The radiologist used a lot of jargon and gobbledygook which his assistant studiously scratched onto the clipboard. Dean listened attentively and watched him point to this and that bone, and sure enough there were cracks in his metacarpals, healed impact fractures in some phalages, whatever those were. Dean understood enough to know that, yeah, fighting barefisted had fucked up his hands a little bit. The doctor mentioned some wearing in another joint and pointed to the film from Dean’s right hand and asked him, “You work with your hands? Maybe an auto mechanic?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered, jolted by the man’s intuitiveness. He stood up to join the doctor in front of the blue-black pictures, wanting to ask what that question meant. He could tell Dean’s job from an x ray? So, would any of these injuries screw up his ability to pull a socket wrench or hold a bolt steady down in the crevice of an engine? Did he have some kind of bone spur that would make his wrist hurt when he hammered a frozen valve? Did he have signs of carpal tunnel?

“You’ve got a pretty long fracture in your finger right here. It’s healing, but you should get it splinted and take a good month off before doing any heavy lifting or anything.”

Dean just nodded, flexing his hand, feeling the dull, pulpy pain that the pressure released.

The doctor continued his tour of Dean’s bones.

Dean started to tune out the droning of the radiologists, until something the tall doctor was saying brought his attention back.

They were looking at the xray of his skull.

“There is a healed hairline fracture of the left frontal bone, running approximately five centimeters from just above supraorbital margin to the left lateral side of the frontal squama...”

Dean realized what they were talking about. “That’s from a car wreck I was in.” He tensed. He’d lost his dad in that wreck, and almost a week of his life.

“Mm-hm,” the radiologist replied absently. “Two to three years old based on the remodeling--”

“It was two and a half years ago,” Dean offered.

“Were you out for long?” the doctor asked astutely.

“Almost ten hours,” Dean answered, surprised.

He stared at the barely noticeable line above his eye. Even he couldn’t always find the long, meandering scar on his forehead, but he recognized its echo on the film-- the record of the injury stood out as a thin, dim grey shadow against the lighter grey bone surrounding it.

The doctor moved on to Dean’s ribs. Dean couldn’t match anything up to the soreness on his side, but it turned out that one rib was broken and two others were cracked. And yes, the radiologist could see other places where his opponents’ fists, or once a heel, had nearly staved in his ribcage. Three times he could have died from a punctured lung or ruptured spleen if the bones had given way; all three stories were still there, etched into the long, graceful curves.

He listened detachedly now as the radiologist and his assistant cataloged every chink and fissure they could find.

Time had healed, time had softened edges and layered on new bone, but nothing had been erased. Except for the crack in his skull from the wreck, just about everything else had happened in the last thirteen weeks.

His bruises were going to disappear. His split knuckles would heal, the cuts on his cheek and his forehead would probably be gone without a trace.

But no matter how hard he wanted to put the fights behind him, his time there would be inscribed in his bones for the rest of his life.


	22. WEIGHT

When the radiologists were done, Inias stepped toward Dean, bag hanging from one shoulder and his notepad crooked in his elbow. He said, “We’re going to Dr. Morales’ office in the annex next. We’ll be taking some photographs, go over your injuries, and take some other samples, okay?”

“Why the hell not,” muttered Dean. He didn’t like the idea of being photographed. The x-rays, at least, had to be read by a trained professional. The ghostly tracings of his skull gave little hint of the face he wore over it. To have his black eye preserved for posterity, that bothered him. It was a mark of shame. He’d fought another human being like an animal.

Inias led him down nondescript halls and across an outdoor walkway. The shadows were drawing out long and thin outside, and Dean was dragged down suddenly by the realization that the day was nearly over.

The part of the complex that Inias referred to as the annex was remarkably similar to the main building, but was slightly newer. Dean didn’t know how Inias knew where to go, but he turned into a small waiting area on the second floor and introduced himself to the receptionist; a nurse quickly let them in and brought them down a short hallway.

They waited in a nondescript examination room. Dean sat as still as he could in one of the visitor chairs, but as time passed he felt more and more edgy.

He must have been broadcasting his nervousness through his scent, because Inias looked up at him sharply and said, “You’re doing great, Dean.”

Dean tried not to roll his eyes. This guy was a kid. What did he know about _anything_?

He could still back out of the photos.

Left alone, the bruises would fade. The cuts probably wouldn’t even leave a mark. But if there were photographs to give flesh to the story that the xrays told...

He closed his eyes. If he said no, it might mean they had no way to prove that the alpha he’d been fighting Saturday night had intended to kill him. The marks would yellow and disappear. His swollen knuckles would recede. He’d be in Kansas, far away from this place and the fight wranglers who had left him here, whenever the wheels of justice finally ground his way. This moment in time had to be captured and preserved against the erosion of the future.

He had to do this.

There was a knock on the door and Dean jumped.

A doctor in a tight white lab coat entered, followed soon after by a male nurse who was holding a tray of utensils and items in plastic bags and wearing an obscenely large, outdated camera around his neck.

“Dean Winchester?” the doctor asked, holding his hand out. “I’m Dr. Morales. I work with the police department and I’m here to examine you and take photographic records of the injuries you’ve sustained. Is that alright?”

Dean was getting a little tired of being treated like a porcelain teacup, but he nodded tightly.

The doctor turned to Inias and added, “I recognize you but I’m afraid I don’t remember your name?” he said to Inias.

“I’m Inias, I’m Dean’s advocate.” He offered his hand to the doctor.

“You’re new at SOS aren’t you?” Dr. Morales asked congenially.

“I am, although--” began Inias.

“So, hey, now that everybody knows each other, let’s get this over with,” Dean interrupted before the professional chitchat got out of hand.

“Fine,” Dr. Morales said, pulling down his professional demeanor like a welder’s visor.

He sat on the stool opposite Dean and scooted forward, already scrutinizing Dean’s bruises.

“Okay, you’ve got some cuts there that are healing nicely, but if you’ll let me I’d like to take the tape off of them. Is that okay?”

Dean nodded again, and Dr. Morales gently pulled away the white strips. The skin stung as the tape gave way. “Yeah, those look real good. Okay, I need you to stand with your back against the wall and look straight ahead.” As he did so, the nurse took two quick photographs and the doctor began to write on a form in a manilla file folder, looking up at Dean from time to time. “Okay, can you turn to your right?”

They repeated the procedure for both sides of his face, the nurse snapping several more pictures and Dr. Morales scribbling more notes in the file.

“Can I see your hands?” he asked Dean.

Dean held his hands out, palms down. The doctor pointed to a couple of Dean’s split knuckles and mumbled to himself, making illegible notations on the form in the folder. “Can you get a shot of those? Yeah, just like that,” he said to his assistant.

The nurse took two more pictures.

“Dean, I’m going to ask you to take your shirt off, if you don’t mind,” Morales said, not looking up from his notes.

Dean froze. Of course they needed to see his ribs and abdomen. He hesitated, however, and plucked at the thin tee impotently.

Inias, the nurse, and Dr. Morales all keyed on him, and from the prickle along his belly he realized that they could scent his terror. He flushed, embarrassed. No scentblockers, goddammit.

Dr. Morales glanced down at the file. “I read the notes from our radiologist. I’d like to take a look at your ribs,” he said reassuringly. “We can put the camera away if you’re done letting us take pictures.”

He shook his head, hoping that the doctor understood that the nurse could stay, and peeled his shirt away, dropping it onto the chair beside him.

Dr. Morales sat back down on his stool and prodded at the still tender flesh covering Dean’s ribs on his left side. Dean gasped when the doctor pushed on a particularly sensitive spot. It was worse than an old bruise but not as bad as being stabbed.

“The radiologist guy, he said I had a broken rib, couple others are cracked.”

“I saw. Well, we don’t tape ribs anymore,” the doctor said, stepping away, “but if you’re still experiencing pain we can probably give you something for that. Are we done taking photographs?” he asked.

Dean couldn’t reply.

“Dean,” said Inais gently, “I’m not here to pressure you into anything you really don’t want to do, but your body is your most compelling testimony. There’s a good chance that the people who put you through this will see significant jail time if you can keep going.”

Right. Like any jury would send away an alpha based on an omega’s testimony. A crazy, out of control omega.

Then again, this wasn’t an ordinary assault trial. He had other omegas to protect.

Dean nodded finally. He couldn’t speak. He felt too vulnerable to be able to voice anything yet. He was grateful for Inias’ presence, and felt a bit chagrined at his attitude before.

“Okay,” said the doctor, “if you can stand with your hands out to your sides about four inches... Great.”

They got photos of the purple and rose-colored bruises along Dean’s ribcage and abdomen. His skin there was a permanent shade of yellow as contusions had blossomed and faded. He’d been fighting two or three times a week, sometimes more. Nothing had ever really healed up.

The doctor made notes in the folder. The nurse put the camera on the counter behind him and began to unwrap the tray of utensils he’d brought in.

Dean remembered. Other samples. He realized what the tray was for.

“Hey, uh, I don’t think we need that,” he said. “I was a fighter not a... uh... lover,” he ended lamely. “Alistair never let anybody touch me.”

There was a long silence. The air in the room suddenly felt charged and heavy.

“Really,” Dean continued. “He didn’t let anyone mess around with the fighters. Didn’t want anything to go wrong, didn’t want anyone to end up... you know... claimed. We were all on suppressants, too. So there was no... there’s no reason for that.”

Dr. Morales waited another beat before speaking. “Okay, fair enough. I think that’s all we need, Mr. Winchester. I’d like to splint that finger, and then I think we’re pretty much done here.” The nurse stepped out to get a splint and tape, and Dean shouldered back into his tee shirt.

“I glanced at your file from St. Brigid’s,” Dr. Morales said. “They gave you a suppressant shot before you left, but do you have a regular physician at home?”

“Yeah, I see her every three months.” He was never late for a shot. Not ever. His body betrayed him at just the mention of his heat as a feeble tingle rose up from his gut. He closed his eyes, willing it to pass. The sudden memory of Cas' scent comforted, but only stoked the fire.

“Be sure to make an appointment with her to follow up when you get back," Dr. Morales said, ignoring Dean's state. "You want something for those ribs? Extra strength ibuprofen?”

He considered it. He wouldn’t say no to something stronger. But a strange doctor was unlikely to offer him opiates. “That would be great, yeah.”

The nurse came back with the supplies, and the doctor splinted Dean’s ring finger to his little finger. “Wear that for about two weeks, and get it x-rayed again before you take the splint off.”

Dean nodded. The likelihood that he’d tear it all off sometime in the next couple of days was pretty high. “Yeah, okay,” he said, feigning obedience.

Dr. Morales scribbled something on a prescription pad and held it out for Dean. “Take this with food,” he cautioned.

“Sure thing. Thanks for your time,” he said reflexively.

“Thanks for staying, doctor,” Inias said, shaking the doctor’s hand again.

Dean and Inias left, walking side by side back to the main building.

The light outside as they crossed the walkway was now rosy and it hit the side of his face, warming his cheek and shoulder.

He couldn’t believe that all that had happened to him occurred on the same day, and he probably wasn’t even done yet...

He still had to figure out what to do about Cas.

 

Castiel settled in to wait, drawing in a grounding breath. The clinic’s HVAC units had very efficient scrubbers-- the thinnest hint of anxiety or fear could not posssibly backwash into the recirculated air. It was one of the reasons they tended to use this facility. Some older buildings solved the problem with aerosols and scented filters, which could be just as triggering as the lingering scent of distress.

This also meant that Dean had utterly and completely vanished when he left the room. Castiel had nothing, no trace of his scent, that let him know what was happening beyond the waiting room. He had no doubt that Inias would keep Dean safe and calm, but he wanted desperately to be there by Dean’s side.

“So, Castiel, how did you end up doing this, whatever it is you actually do?” Sam asked after a moment.

Cas straightened, unsure whether or not he could make small talk while his thoughts were occupied with worry for Dean, but Sam had an affable demeanor and Castiel gave in.

“I was in college and happened to stop at a table recruiting students to omega affairs club. I almost passed by-- this was the nineties, there was a lot of insularity in the omega rights movement. I’m ashamed to admit that I wasn’t sure I wanted to associate with progressive omegas at the time. I was a freshman, I’d gone to a private high school, and I’m from a family with a preponderance of alphas, so my familiarity with omegas was limited.”

“Oh really?” Sam didn’t seem to be put off by Cas’ admission-- in fact he appeared genuinely engaged. “Why did you stop then?”

“To tell the truth, I’ve never understood the impulse. There were no omegas at my prep school, and we had cursory explanations of gender designations in health class, but at that table I could see a tight-knit group of fellow human beings, omega-designated people, who weren’t just diagrams on a page or jokes in a locker room. I was certain I wouldn’t be welcome there, but they gave me an armful of literature and invited me to their next meeting. ”

“You joined the club? No one, you know, questioned your motivations?”

Cas smiled. “Everyone questioned why I was there. There were quite a few beta allies, but I was one of only three alphas. There was...” He hesitated. He hated this memory, but it was the impetus from which his activism stemmed. “One of the alpha members began harassing and stalking a fellow omega club member. She ended up raping and beating her. We began an offshoot organization called Safemarch, where we accompanied students to their destinations when they felt uncomfortable, or were in dangerous circumstances, omega or not.”

“I’m sorry that happened to your friend,” Sam said quietly.

“I always felt as though I hadn’t done enough to protect her. We all knew what was going on, but we didn’t come together closely enough. It was a mistake I’ve spent my entire life trying to rectify.”

“So what do you do for this, what do you call it? SOS?”

“I’m technically an assistant regional coordinator, but when there are high-stakes operations like the one Saturday night, I and other volunteers accompany the police in order to extract omegas from... unsavory situations.”

“Trafficking,” Sam said bluntly.

“Sometimes. Sometimes we go as advocates for omegas who are in dangerous domestic situations. It depends on what law enforcement needs. And we’re allowed to do it because... well, because as far as we’ve come, the safety-net still isn’t big enough, there are still gaping holes.”

“Thank you for being here for my brother,” Sam said. “We thought he was dead, we really did. I never dreamed that he was... I mean, omega fighting is an urban legend. At least... that’s what I thought.”

“I wish it were.”

“So, how can I help him?” Sam asked, sitting up straighter. “I mean, I don’t know what he’s been doing this whole time, where he’s been. And he’s not likely to tell me much.”

“Omega fights are highly mobile operations, they pop up in a city for a night, maybe two, and then everyone disperses to the wind. And... almost no one makes it out. I heard some of what Dean told the police today but really, the only person who knows what Dean has been through these past months is Dean, himself. You can support him by validating his feelings, by listening to him should he chose to open up, and it’s important that you don’t judge him. Everything he might have done was under duress. He was probably just... surviving.”

Sam nodded, looking at his empty hands. His phone pinged and he checked it.

Castiel took that opportunity to pull out his own phone; he had an email from his supervisor, Hester, who wanted him to check in before the end of the day. While he felt an almost biological impulse to stay in the waiting room for Dean to reappear, he knew he should call Hester back now that he had a moment of quiet.

“Excuse me, Sam, I need to make a phone call.”

Sam smiled tightly.

Castiel went out the front doors and walked a good way away from the front doors before dialing Hester’s office.

“Castiel, finally,” she said by way of greeting.

“Hello, Hester--”

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” she said warningly, and Castiel sat down on a bench by the sidewalk with a sigh.

 

Sam was nearly immured to the opening and closing of the waiting room doors by now, but he caught Dean’s scent-- still a surprise-- just as he and the other SOS advocate reappeared from the inner offices of the clinic.

He jumped up and swamped Dean in a hug reflexively.

“Yeah, okay, they just took some x-rays, Sam,” Dean said, patting Sam’s back self-consciously.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, looking Dean over in concern and spotting the splinted fingers.

Dean held his hand up. “Fractured finger, broken rib, obviously nothing fatal or I wouldn’t have made it this long.” He glanced around searchingly.

Sam, ever prescient, guessed why Dean was looking over the waiting room with barely concealed worry. “I think Cas had to make a phone call.”

Dean just nodded, lips pressed together and gaze restless.

“What’s that? A prescription?” Sam asked, nodding at the slip of paper in Dean’s hand.

“Ibupofen. Think we can get to a pharmacy before quitting time?”  
“Sure. Yeah.”

Dean turned to Inias awkwardly. “Thanks for being here,” he said tersely.

Inias shook Dean’s hand. “Thank you for trusting me,” Inias answered with a genuine smile. He dug into his shoulder bag and pulled out a folder. Sam noticed that Dean rolled his eyes while Inias wasn’t looking.

“Here are some resources you might find helpful. I understand you aren’t from here, but some of these are either national programs or have outreach centers that might be near you. And you can call me or Dr. Novak at any time,” Inias said, handing the folder over.

“You people and your pamphlets,” Dean muttered.

“Well, we’re not sending you off without some kind of support,” Inias said adamantly.

“So what now?”

“We’ll keep in touch. And with luck you’ll hear from Captain Stengel, or the FBI, or the Attorney General, sometime soon-- although honestly, Dean, I have to tell you, it could take weeks, months even, for this investigation to move forward, but we take omega lives seriously. We’re looking out for you. We’ll make sure justice prevails.”

“Thank you,” Dean said gruffly, and they turned to leave the cool, empty lobby together.

Outside, Dr. Novak was sitting on a bench staring out at the parking lot. The wind shifted and his head snapped up, gaze locking onto Dean immediately. He rose swiftly and closed the distance between them.

Sam thought Dr. Novak’s reaction was certainly... intense.

But once he reached Dean, he pulled up stiffly and merely looked Dean over. “Did everything go okay? You’re hand is hurt--”

“Just a broken finger,” Dean said, omitting the same about his ribs. Sam said nothing.

“Inias,” Novak said, nodding. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime, Castiel,” Inias said, and headed toward his own vehicle somewhere in the lot.

“Are you still staying with me?” Cas asked Dean, almost under his breath.

Dean pulled in a quick breath. “Yes,” Sam heard him reply. He said, more loudly, “I have to get a prescription filled. Sam and I will get supper--”

Dr. Novak interrupted to protest. “You don’t have to--”

“It’s the least we can do,” Sam interjected.

Dr. Novak nodded. “I’ll text you my address,” he said to Sam.

Sam waved his phone and led Dean to the rental.

He couldn’t help but notice that Dean kept glancing over at Cas, whose car was well behind them.

When they reached the rental Impala, Dean held out his hands for the car keys.

“Dude, you don’t have any ID,” Sam protested.

Dean continued to hold out his hand, glaring at Sam.

Sam relented with a scowl and dropped the keys into Dean’s outstretched palm, then folded himself into the passenger seat. He searched his map app for a pharmacy that was still open and hit the turn-by-turn.

“ _Head north and turn right at Eastshore Avenue,_ ” the app said.

“’We’ll make sure justice prevails,’” quoted Dean as he started the car. “Who even talks like that?”

“He seemed nice,” Sam replied.

Dean signaled and took the turn onto the main road a little bit too fast. “This was a bad idea.”

“What? Going to the pharmacy?” Sam asked, confused.

“No. Staying with Cas.”

“Why? Has he tried anything? Because we can just leave. There’s no good reason why--”

“Sam!” Dean interrupted, but then seemed to find himself at a loss. “He’s... he’s my mate.” A knot throbbed on Dean’s jaw.

“Your mate,” Sam repeated breathlessly, staring at Dean. He and Jess had been right after all, but when Dean said it out loud... The truth was staggeringly simple; the implications were immense.

Dean nodded, watching the traffic ahead of him, clenching his fingers around the steering wheel. “Yeah,” Dean began, “when I met him-- when I _remember_ meeting him-- I’d never felt anything like it. I was being pulled, Sam, or I felt... I felt like I was being thrown over a cliff and couldn’t stop. And I didn’t _want_ to stop. I’d have given anything to keep on going, right on over the edge. And now...” He let the sentence hang unfinished.

Sam watched his brother warily, but Dean seemed to be done. He asked, “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, almost sullenly.  
“Are you going to stay here with him for a while? Like, a few weeks? Or maybe... forever?”

“No,” said Dean decisively, “no, I want to go home. I want to go back to Kansas. I thought I was never going to get my life back, man. I’m going home.”

Sam pushed some more. “Okay, then what about doing this long-distance?”

Dean huffed. “I can’t expect him to fly to KC every weekend. I can’t drive here in one day. So what do we do, try to survive being separated by Facetiming every night?”

“Jess and I--”

“No, Sam.”  
The brothers were quiet for a long while, the silence cracked only by the click of a blinker as they waited at another intersection, the chipper voice of the app urging them to go ahead and turn left.

Dean made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “No matter how we feel about each other, Cas doesn’t know the first thing about me.”

“So?”

“He’s not going to want to keep me, Sam!” yelled Dean.

Sam blew out a breath in exasperation.

Another long silence stretched between them.

“Dean,” said Sam quietly, “you’re not an infection that needs to be cured. You’re not gum on the bottom of his shoe that he’s going to scrape off on the curb. Whatever this _is_ , though... we’ll work something out.”

Their stillness grew.

“This isn’t... this isn’t fair to Cas,” Dean said finally, in a flat, defeated voice that Sam recognized. “He’s a good guy, he deserves someone better.”

There was nothing Sam could say to this. There never had been. So he went with, “Well, you’re what he got. And who’s to say that you’re not exactly what he wants, as you are, warts and all?”

Dean stared at the car ahead of them, his green eyes vivid and slightly bloodshot. “I don’t think so.”

“Look,” Sam said, starting to lose patience with Dean, “I don’t know how true mates work. I don’t think anybody really does. But you and Castiel, I mean, you met under really awful circumstances. You still haven’t spent twenty-four solid hours together. You two need to get more time together, you need to hammer out this separation situation, you just need... you just need to talk to him, man. Stop spinning your wheels.”

Dean nodded, staring into the distance. He pulled into a spot at the pharmacy and killed the engine.

They went into the store together, the weight that hung between them since their phone call that morning lighter by only a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give a warm welcome to the appearance of the first semicolon in this fic. I can’t promise there will be more, sorry to all those who ship the colon/comma pairing.


End file.
